


A Thousand Lifetimes

by TrueIllusion



Series: Stories from the "Changed" Verse [9]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Anniversary, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk), Physical Disability, References to Depression, Ridiculously Romantic Brian Kinney, Romantic Fluff, Sexy Times, Surprises, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22924987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: When you're married to Brian Kinney, you learn to expect surprises.***Brian surprises Justin with an anniversary gift that far exceeds expectations.
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Series: Stories from the "Changed" Verse [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1323704
Comments: 14
Kudos: 26





	A Thousand Lifetimes

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this one since November, so I know it's a very late Christmas story, although Christmas isn't really the focus here. I hope it'll be worth the long wait!
> 
> Thank you to SandiD and PrettyTheWorld for the beta work and helping me brainstorm, and helping me get unstuck when I needed it. And thank you to Solstine for reading along the way and providing encouragement!

When you’re married to Brian Kinney, you learn to expect surprises.

He’d been full of them since the beginning -- from the moment when he couldn’t keep the surprise out of his eyes and his voice when I told him I’d applied to Dartmouth, to the night he walked into my prom after he’d told me he wouldn’t come, all the way to his impulse purchase of a mansion in the country with stables, tennis courts, and a pool based on some offhand, throw-away comment I’d made when he criticized my shithole apartment. And there was the house he bought me in Pittsburgh, and the re-enactment of our wedding when I was struggling to recover the memory, and of course, Mildred the cat. Plus the thousands of other things he’d done for me, to show me how much he loved me -- his actions, as always, speaking louder than his words.

So it wasn’t unexpected when, on the day before our anniversary, Brian asked me to meet him at his office because he had a surprise for me.

Since Brian’s anniversary and birthday surprises usually tended to involve fancy dinners and expensive wine, I took a change of clothes with me to my studio, where I mostly went just to sketch and see what sort of inspiration came to me. I spent the day sitting in my favorite chair in front of the window, looking out toward downtown, alternating between daydreaming and doodling. Just putting whatever popped into my head down on paper.

It was getting easier to draw with my right hand, and it seemed like some of my dexterity might have been returning, even if the grip strength wasn’t there. My hand still got tired easily, though, so that meant a lot of breaks to think and daydream. I’d started switching to my left hand again sometimes too, noticing the difference in the quality of my strokes. It wasn’t that either was bad; they were just different. And all it took was a little shift in perspective to start to see the differences as benefits rather than liabilities.

Shifting perspectives had been the theme of the last couple of months in my life, it seemed -- learning the skills I needed to keep myself from being my own worst critic, so that my anxiety and depression stayed within my control. Of course, that still wasn’t a guarantee, and it never would be. After all, brain injury is unpredictable, and I have a lifetime of my brain constantly changing, shifting, and adapting to look forward to. My brain misfires sometimes, and that’s okay. I just have to recognize it for what it is when it happens, and take action. That’s the challenging part, for sure, but I have Brian to help me with that. He knows the signs, and he knows what to look for, and what to do to help -- though that knowledge was hard-won, to say the least.

I knew Brian felt guilty for not stepping in sooner -- for not forcibly pulling me out of the hole I’d dug myself into. But it really wasn’t his fault. I kept it from him, on purpose. I didn’t want him to know. But we got past it and came out on the other side even stronger in our commitment to each other, just like every other trial we’d dealt with together.

Nonetheless, my entire perspective on life had done some pretty significant shifting as well, and my art, as always, was a big part of that. But I’d made up my mind to accept whatever inspiration came, and whatever form my art would take in the future -- whether that was painting, drawing, sculpting, pottery, or something completely different. So my main objective was really just to remain open to the possibilities.

That was exactly what I’d set out to do that morning, when I stopped at the coffee shop across the street from my studio for a scone and a latte and took them upstairs, unpacking my sketchbook and my pencils and the special tool that would help me grip the pencil in my right hand. The first days of winter had given the city a somewhat gray cast, though the early snow we’d had a few days before had already melted, giving way to puddles on the street corners and muddy patches in the parks and green spaces. Holiday decorations helped break up the monotony, though, peppering it with green, gold, and red, and lush greenery in the store windows alongside twinkling lights.

I sat down in my chair and gazed out at the city, watching the people on the sidewalks six floors below, imagining their lives -- where they were headed, what they were doing. Were they going to work, going home to their families, or out to the grocery store? Were they as lucky as I was, to have a partner waiting at home who was as devoted as Brian Kinney?

The moment Brian’s name came into my consciousness, my hand seemed to start tracing the shape of his face, all of its own accord, just like it had since my high school days. His strong jawline, his perfect lips, his shy smile, and his beautiful eyes, their color as complex and mysterious as the man himself. And, like every other time I’d ever drawn Brian Kinney, it just seemed to flow. It felt easy. Effortless. Automatic. Comfortable.

I got so absorbed in my drawing and my thoughts that I ended up losing track of time, skipping lunch entirely and hardly even believing it was already one o’clock when Brian called me to make sure I was still meeting him at his office at four.

“Okay, good,” he said, sounding a little distracted, as he usually did when he was at work. “How was Millie this morning?”

“Since when do you call me to ask about Millie?”

“Just making conversation. And that’s not why I called. I called to make sure you were still coming here, remember? I know your short-term memory sucks but, Sunshine, that was five seconds ago.” I could hear the ever-so-slight teasing tone in Brian’s voice, softening his words.

“I didn’t forget. And Millie was fine. Taking her after-breakfast nap when I left. I’m sure she’ll be pretending she’s starving by the time we get home later. And I’ll be sure to tell her you were secretly concerned about her.” I grinned and pulled my feet up into the chair, leaning my head against the back.

“You do that. Maybe then she’ll stop plotting various ways to annoy the piss out of me.”

“You know you love her.”

“I love _you_.”

“Mmm-hmm. You keep telling yourself that’s all it is.”

“Anyway, I have a meeting in five minutes. I just wanted to check in before I went. You’re still at the studio, right?”

“Right. I figured I’d stay here until I head your way. Just seeing what comes to me.”

“Sounds good, Sunshine.” I could hear the smile in his voice -- the relief -- and knew that he felt the same way I did about my artistic inspiration starting to return. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours… love you.”

“Love you more.”

“Later.”

“Later.”

I went back to my doodling, having moved on to sketching a family portrait of sorts, from memory, of Rob, Adam, Esme, and Sophia -- the friends that it felt like we’d had all of our lives, instead of just a little over a decade. They were family. Part of our little New York family. Of course, we still had our Pittsburgh family, and we always would, but our New York family had become an integral part of our lives, demonstrating every day that family isn’t defined by blood, but by love and caring.

Looking at the sketch, I started to wonder if I might be able to turn it into a painting someday -- if I still had the fine motor skills needed to do it. Portrait painting had never been my specialty, but the people in that drawing meant so much to Brian and me that it made me want to do it for them, as a mantlepiece for their adorable little apartment in Brooklyn.

I was using my fingertip to blend and shade, still wondering when I might get my paintbrushes back out, when I heard a knock on the door, though I had no idea who it could be if not Brian. My “neighbors” in the building that housed my studio generally kept to themselves, whether they were fellow artists or just small business owners or apartment dwellers. And surely Brian wouldn’t be having food delivered just a couple of hours before taking me out.

When I opened the door, there was a man standing on the other side wearing an obviously-expensive wool coat that reminded me of the one Brian used to have when we lived in Pittsburgh. He had a garment bag draped over his left arm, which he held out to me, along with a shopping bag that contained a shoebox.

“Delivery for Justin Taylor,” he said.

I managed to keep myself from rolling my eyes as I took the garment bag from him, thanked him, and closed the door. Typical Brian, I thought -- he never could trust me to pick out my own clothes when he was taking me somewhere fancy. And it seemed like he never wanted me to wear the same suit twice.

Just as I expected, the bag contained a brand new Armani suit, with a shirt the same shade of blue as my eyes. Two of Brian’s favorite things, wrapped up in one convenient, four-digit-price-tag package. There was a tie to match, and a pair of shoes, of course, because god forbid that I not have the complete outfit. Clearly this had been the real reason behind Brian’s call; he needed to know that I was still at my studio, so he could coordinate the delivery.

I hung the garment bag on the bathroom door and sat back down in the armchair to finish my drawing, though my mind kept wandering, because now I was extremely curious what Brian had planned. I hoped he would take me out dancing before the night was over, because I loved it when we danced together, whether it was at a nightclub or a jazz club, though I had to admit that the jazz club had taken the lead as my preference. Sitting in Brian’s lap with my arm around his shoulders, letting him twirl us around as the band played, was one of my favorite things in the world, mostly because of the way he looked at me -- like I was _his_ favorite thing in the world.

I changed into the suit around 3:15, giving myself plenty of time to get to Brian’s office building, since it was Friday, and rush hour always started early on Friday. It seemed like that was the day when everyone got off work early, which was especially likely the weekend before Christmas. When I got there, Brian was in his office with Rob and Cynthia. The papers and notepads and laptops on the table seemed to indicate a business meeting, but the open bottle of wine and the half-eaten charcuterie board in the center indicated the holiday break had apparently started early for the three senior-most members of Kinnetik New York.

“Say what you want, that cheese is fucking amazing,” Brian said, reaching across the table for another piece.

“Since when do you willingly eat dairy when you’re _not_ high?” Cynthia teased.

Brian simply shrugged and popped the cheese into his mouth, then swirled the wine in his glass before taking a sip.

“Hey, Justin.” Rob was the first to see me standing in the doorway, since he was the only one facing the door. “We were just enjoying a lovely gift from one of your husband’s clients.” The slight note of sarcasm in Rob’s voice told me there was more to this story than what his words indicated, but he didn’t get to say any more before Brian interrupted him.

“Fucking bribery is what it is. And it’s not going to work.” Brian set his glass down before he backed up and pushed himself toward me, then used my tie the way he always did to pull me down for a kiss. “I knew that suit would look delicious on you.”

“You know, I really don’t think anyone would notice if I wore the same suit twice.” I grinned, giving Brian’s shoulder a playful push.

“I would. And besides, I like shopping for you.”

I could see the faint blush creeping up Brian’s cheeks as he looked me up and down again before inviting me to join the three of them at the table. I expected Rob or Cynthia to ask about our plans for this evening, but neither of them did. Instead, we talked about Rob and Adam’s plan to take the girls ice skating at Rockefeller Center over the weekend, and the Christmas getaway that Cynthia and her boyfriend had planned. I passed on the wine, but I did try the cheese, and Brian was right -- it was fucking amazing.

It was almost 4:30 when Brian glanced at his watch and said, “Guess we’d better go. Our ride should be waiting out front.”

“Where are we going?” I asked. Not that I expected him to tell me, but I had to try.

“You’ll see.” He gave me that crooked smile and a wink -- an expression I knew I’d never be tired of -- and grabbed his coat, shrugging it on.

“Have fun,” Rob said, his eyes twinkling in a way that told me he knew exactly what Brian had planned.

“Be safe, kids,” Cynthia added. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I think that list is fairly short,” Brian deadpanned, looking back at Cynthia just in time to see her flip him off.

“After you, Sunshine.” Brian held out his hand, gesturing for me to continue ahead of him to the elevator. When we got inside, we were alone, and Brian seized the opportunity to kiss me again, this time longer and deeper, all the way to the ground floor.

Outside the front door, a black town car was waiting in the pickup lane, and the driver got out to open the doors for us, then took care of putting Brian’s wheelchair in the back of the car. He didn’t ask for a destination, and Brian didn’t give him one, making it obvious that this entire trip had been pre-arranged, and I was the only one still in the dark.

Brian held my hand in the backseat, his fingers interlaced through mine, and he kept sneaking kisses, though he didn’t take it any further, as he was sometimes prone to do when we rode in taxicabs with drivers he didn’t know. We drove through rush-hour traffic across Manhattan, with me spending most of the time trying to figure out where we might be going. Soon, I realized we were about to enter the Lincoln Tunnel.

“Why are we going to New Jersey for dinner?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” Brian said again. The expression on his face as his fingers tightened around mine reminded me of how he’d looked the day he’d told me he had something he wanted to show me, then driven me out to West Virginia to tell me he’d bought me a mansion, and it made me wonder what on earth he’d done this time. I hoped he hadn’t bought us a house in New Jersey, but with Brian Kinney, nothing was ever off the table. I’d learned a long time ago to just go with it.

When we turned into the Teterboro Airport, however, I really started to wonder exactly what Brian had done this time.

“Where are we going?” I asked again, hoping Brian might answer me this time.

He didn’t. This time, he didn’t say a word; he was too busy looking out the window, apparently not realizing I could see his shy grin reflected back at me in said window.

“You didn’t tell me I needed to pack a suitcase.”

“It’s taken care of, Sunshine.”

“So we _are_ going somewhere overnight, then?”

“Signs point to yes.” His grin, still reflected in the window, got larger.

“But Mom is flying in Sunday. What about her? Will we be back in time?”

“Again, taken care of.”

“Who’s taking care of Millie?”

“Cynthia, Rob, Esme… She’s got quite the social calendar.”

“Wait, how long are we going to be gone?”

“Christ, can’t a guy surprise his husband anymore without facing an interrogation?”

I had about a million more questions, but no more time to ask them, apparently, because we’d reached our destination -- a hangar where a private jet was waiting, complete with a wheelchair lift, which was something I’d never seen before. Our driver got out and retrieved Brian’s chair, along with our suitcases, which had apparently been loaded into the trunk before we ever got downstairs. I wondered when Brian had packed them, but I guessed it didn’t really matter. He could be sneaky when he wanted to be, and he’d proven that to me over and over.

“I hope you packed my comfortable clothes too, and not just suits and ties,” I said, only half teasing. Knowing Brian, it was a valid concern.

“Not to worry, I put in that awful sweatshirt and your cargo pants. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re still fucking unbelievable, you know that?”

“I know.” Brian smirked and squeezed my hand one more time before he let go so he could transfer out of the car.

Our suitcases were quickly whisked away by a young man in khakis and a fleece jacket with a logo on it that I couldn’t quite make out, that I presumed belonged to whatever private airline we were flying. Soon, Brian and I were on the plane, and the lone flight attendant was serving us drinks.

“And here I thought we were just going out to dinner. If I’d known we weren’t, I would have brought a snack. I skipped lunch, so I’m starving. And I’m wondering why I needed a suit to get on an airplane.”

“Nothing wrong with looking nice, Sunshine. And there’s still dinner. Just wait until we get in the air.” Brian took a generous sip of his whiskey, then settled back into the plush leather seat, letting his eyes close. “God, this is the way to travel. Too bad Theodore would kill me if I tried to do this every time I had to go somewhere on business.”

“Last I checked, you’re still the boss.” I swirled the straw through my club soda with lime, watching out the window as the crew loaded our things onto the plane. “That has to count for something.”

“Eh, he’s not wrong that it would be a totally unnecessary expense. But for this…” He paused and blinked his eyes open, giving me a shy smile. “I wanted it to be special.”

“So when am I going to find out where we’re going? And what you told Mom? She’s supposed to be spending next week at our place. Or was she in on all of this too?”

“Bingo. She’s coming for a week in January. That’s been our plan all along. And you’ll find out where we’re going when we get there.”

I shook my head, chuckling softly to myself. “Yep… Still fucking unbelievable.”

Brian reached across the small space between our seats and took my hand in his. “I just thought, after everything…” He took a breath, letting silence settle between us for a few seconds. We both knew exactly what “everything” meant. He didn’t have to say it. “I wanted to get away for a little while. Just us. And I was hoping you might like that too.”

“Sounds perfect.” I smiled and looked out the window at the sun setting in the western sky, wondering where Brian and I would be when we went to bed that night, but at the same time knowing that as long as we were together, that was all I really needed.

***

Four hours later, we made our descent to a still-undisclosed location, my only clue to our whereabouts the fact that there was water and sand, which I could barely see in the moonlight. Brian and I had enjoyed a gourmet meal once we got to cruising altitude, and we talked for a little while -- just catching up with each other, the same way we did every night. Brian had napped off and on for most of the rest of the flight, while I alternated between reading and sketching, depending on how my hand felt at any particular moment. Brian had been working more hours than usual over the last couple of weeks, thanks to the busy upcoming January advertising season, so I let him rest while I sketched him, since “sleeping Brian” was still one of my favorite things to draw, even after almost twenty years.

He woke up just as the wheels of our plane touched the ground, then reached over to take my hand again as I looked out the window and made another vain attempt to figure out where we’d gone. The only lights I could see were those of the airport itself, which was the smallest airport I’d ever been to, with a single building and only one runway.

“Where are we?” I asked, hoping Brian would finally give me an answer, now that we’d actually arrived.

“The Caribbean. We’re not quite all the way to our destination yet, but we’re close. The rest of the trip is by ferry, to a small island, mostly private homes. One of the houses belongs to a client of mine -- Keith Smith from Four Daughters Brewery. I think you met him once at a party last summer. Anyway, the house is accessible, believe it or not, because his brother is a quad. There’s even a boardwalk that goes down to the beach.”

“It sounds perfect.”

“I’m hoping it lives up to the hype.”

“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy,” I said, squeezing Brian’s hand as he gave me the bashful smile that still gave me butterflies in my stomach and probably always would.

When we got off the plane, I was taken aback by the mild temperatures, which were a far cry from what we’d left behind in New York, but a welcome change at the same time. I could hear the roar of the ocean and smell the sea. I took in a deep breath of salty air, still not quite believing Brian had planned all of this without me knowing it -- and also impressed that my mom had managed not to spill the beans either. She’d never been good at keeping secrets, but she’d kept this one well.

An hour later, we’d finally arrived at the house, which was huge -- around the same size as the “country manor” Brian had bought for me what felt like a lifetime ago. The front entrance had a ramp, and one of the first things I saw when we got inside was a small elevator. The house was roomy, with plush-yet-modern furnishings and beautiful hardwood floors. A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the living room, illuminated by what had to be at least a thousand tiny, white lights. The walls were decorated with contemporary art, but overall, the look was fairly minimalist, with plenty of floor and wall space left open and unoccupied.

There was a butler who met us at the door, took our luggage, and offered to make us tea, which we both declined. The only thing I was ready for was bed, and judging by the way Brian headed straight for the elevator once we were alone, it seemed like he was as well.

We showered together, then fell asleep in each other’s arms with the balcony doors open, listening to the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore. In the morning, I awoke to the sun streaming in the windows and the sound of seagulls. Brian was still asleep, so I slipped out of bed as quietly and carefully as I could, for once being successful in not waking him. I hoped our trip would be long enough to let him catch up on some of the sleep he’d been missing. He was better about that than he once had been, but sometimes he still needed a subtle reminder that rest and self-care were just as important as success in business.

I’d been going for walks in the city on most days as a part of my own self-care, so once I’d put some clothes on, I decided to venture out to the beach for a morning stroll, leaving Brian a note on the bedside table to let him know where I’d gone, so he wouldn’t worry. He’d been a lot more prone to worrying about me in recent weeks, though I couldn’t say I blamed him. I was feeling a lot better though -- more clear-headed than I had in a long time -- so I hoped some of that worry might go away soon. Because the last thing I wanted to do was add to Brian’s stress.

Being the CEO of a quickly growing advertising agency with two locations -- one in the highly competitive New York market -- took a lot of Brian’s time and energy, and though he’d started delegating some tasks, he still hadn’t quite delegated enough, at least in my opinion. I knew Rob and Cynthia both agreed with me, and they’d been trying to “suggest” that Brian hire another ad exec or two for the New York branch -- since the most effective way to get Brian to do what you want him to do is to make him think it’s his idea. Brian had yet to take action on that, though.

So I let him sleep, found the key to the house that the butler had apparently left on a table in the foyer for us, and headed to the beach. The boardwalk was nice, and actually went fairly close to the shore, with an elevated platform at the end that had a couple of lounge chairs. Of course, getting in the sand was inaccessible, as always, and I doubted that a small island like this would have the beach wheelchairs that I knew larger beaches sometimes loaned out. (Not that Brian would ever let me push him in one, anyhow. He’d have to be totally incapacitated before he’d let that happen.) But the boardwalk would get us pretty close and be comfortable for Brian, so that seemed like a win.

Sometimes I wish Brian and I would have gone to a beach before I left for New York, so I could have walked with him along the shoreline. I know it’s ridiculously romantic, but, well, that’s me. And it’s also not going to happen, unless we can find a beach with a paved, wheelchair-accessible path right along the water. Sometimes I also wonder if Brian has things he regrets not doing when he could walk, but I doubt that’s a question I’ll ever ask him. We are where we are in life, playing the hands we were each dealt, and it’s always better to think of what you _can_ do than to get caught up in what you can’t.

I left my sandals at the end of the boardwalk and kept right on going, enjoying the feeling of the sand between my toes. I got close to the water, wading in it occasionally, just up to my ankles, as I walked down the beach. The landscape was beautiful -- sand, ocean, and a clear blue sky dotted with just a few puffy, white clouds -- and it made me wish I’d brought some painting supplies. But since I hadn’t known where we were going -- or even that we were going anywhere other than out for dinner -- I only had the sketchbook and pencils I always carried in my messenger bag. Unless Brian had packed something else, and if he had, I didn’t know about it yet. Surprisingly, he had done a good job packing my clothes -- and he really did include my cargo pants and my favorite hoodie -- so maybe he had thrown some of my art supplies in too.

I took a few pictures so I could remember the scene later when I got back home and into my studio, but put my phone back in my pocket as soon as I’d done that. I wanted to stay present and focus on where I was and what was around me -- the sights, the smells, and everything I felt -- so my walk would be a moving meditation, rather than just a distraction. I wasn’t far from the end of the boardwalk when I found a small inlet with a pool of beautiful, blue water. A border of trees partially surrounded it, creating a private oasis of sorts, with shade and sand. The view was gorgeous -- neverending, almost -- and just being in that space made me feel like I was somewhere sacred.

I sat down on a large boulder that jutted up out of the sand, then looked up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by. I closed my eyes and relished the feel of the warm sun on my face for a while before I moved on, continuing my walk. When I’d wandered as far as I felt like I wanted to, I turned back and retraced my steps, making my way back to the boardwalk.

When I got back to the house, Brian was in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and sitting in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out toward the ocean. I draped my arms around his shoulders from behind and bent down to kiss his cheek.

“Happy anniversary,” I said.

“Happy anniversary.” Brian smiled and reached up to intertwine his fingers with mine, leaning back into my embrace. “How was your walk?”

“Wonderful. I wish I could do that every day.”

“I could buy us a beach house… then you could.”

“Spending money really is your solution for everything, isn’t it?” I teased, as I stood to pour myself a cup of coffee.

“Not everything. Just most things.”

“I don’t think I even want to know how much all of this cost.”

“Not as much as you’d think. It pays to know the right people, Sunshine.”

“I stand by what I said last night about you being fucking unbelievable.” I carried my steaming mug over to the table, where I moved a chair aside to make room for Brian before pulling out my own chair and taking a seat.

“I like doing nice things for you.” Brian turned and pushed himself toward the table, taking the space next to me, then leaned his shoulder against mine. “Besides, spoiling my husband is one of my favorite ways to spend money.”

“I’m a pretty lucky guy.” I let my head come to rest on Brian’s shoulder and took his hand, interlacing our fingers once again.

“Nah… I’m the lucky one. After all, you’ve stayed married to me for twelve years.”

“And I wouldn’t trade a single day of it for the world.”

I halfway expected Brian to make a sarcastic comment before things got too sappy, but he didn’t. Instead, he let out a soft sigh and tightened his fingers around mine, then kissed the top of my head and quietly uttered, “Me either.”

If the past few months had taught me anything, it was that Brian’s love for me was beyond measure -- more than I ever could have imagined, even in my wildest 17-year-old dreams. He loved me enough to do things that went against his very nature -- like adopting a cat and going with me to therapy and sitting down with me to talk honestly about feelings. And he did all of those things for me, without a second thought.

In some ways, the Brian Kinney I’d shared my life with for the past twelve years felt worlds away from the man I’d met under that street lamp on Liberty Avenue. Yet, in other ways, he was so much the same. He’d revealed the caring nature that existed beneath his tough, brash exterior on that very first night, with his willingness to be gentle with me and take his time, making sure my first time was not only memorable but so good I couldn’t help but keep coming back for more -- from him.

Even so, the honest, loving man I knew Brian to be was something that had developed over time, bolstered by life experiences -- both his and mine. But that’s life. It changes you. Shapes you. Pushes you to become the person you always had deep inside but maybe weren’t sure you could be. And just when you think you’re done changing and adapting, it throws you another curveball.

Brian’s actions had always spoken louder than his words, though, and that moment in the beach house was no exception. I could feel everything he wasn’t saying in the tender way his hand held mine, and the warmth of his body next to me. In the relaxed quality of his breath. In the way he let the silence fill the gaps yet somehow also made that silence comfortable. We were sitting in the midst of yet another of his grand gestures -- his signature way of showing his love for me -- and once again, that love was like a physical presence. Not just words or promises, but something I could feel. Something solid and unshakeable -- the foundation of the life we’d built together.

We cooked breakfast together that morning from the gourmet ingredients that the fridge had somehow been fully stocked with -- again, not surprising, knowing my husband -- then spent the afternoon lounging on the boardwalk, soaking up the sunshine. It didn’t take long for Brian’s olive skin to take on the sexy, golden glow he’d always had back in his “prowling” days, and I couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances at him as he lay there on the lounge chair in his swim trunks, eyes closed and face upturned, a lazy smile just turning up the edges of his lips. I sketched him for a while, until I looked over at him once and found him staring back at me, with that same contented smile and the warm, loving look that I’d tried so many times to capture on paper or canvas and had never quite managed to pull off. Perhaps that was just a part of the mystique that was Brian Kinney.

He patted the seat next to his hip, then shifted over as far as he could, beckoning to me to join him. I did, enjoying the feel of his strong arm around my shoulders and the softness of his lips as he pressed them against my temple. I put my leg over his and stroked the inside of his ankle with my toes, knowing that even though he couldn’t feel it, he could see it, and that was enough.

I rolled onto my side, cupping Brian’s cheek with my palm as I kissed him, tasting the remnants of the whiskey he’d been drinking as it mingled with the flavor I’d always known to be “Brian.” It was a taste I’d never been able to describe, but it was one I would recognize anywhere, the same way I would recognize the way he moved, and the way he touched me, and the feeling of his body inside mine. Nothing and no one else had ever come close to loving me the way Brian had, for far longer than the twelve years we’d been married.

When he kissed me back, I could feel the urgency in the way his lips moved against mine, and I knew he wanted to fuck me right there on the beach just as badly as I wanted him to. But I also remembered that this house belonged to one of his clients, and although the island wasn’t densely populated, there were other houses and other people around who might not appreciate the sight of two men fucking on a lounge chair on the boardwalk.

“We should go inside,” I said softly, my lips still touching his.

He kissed me again, harder this time, before pulling back just enough to whisper, “Yeah.”

Reluctantly, I got up, though not before kissing Brian one last time. I held his hand as I stood, helping pull him into a sitting position, before I let go so he could transfer back to his wheelchair. I followed him up the boardwalk and back into the house, where he almost immediately turned and pulled me down into his lap for a bruising kiss. I clung to him, the fingers of my left hand gripping the back of his neck as our lips and tongues moved together. I felt his hand on my hip, followed by his fingers slipping inside the waistband of my shorts to stroke my hardening cock. I let out an involuntary gasp as his thumb brushed across the head, offering just a tease before he withdrew his hand and started to move toward the elevator. The entire time we were in the elevator, Brian’s lips were connected to mine, his hands wandering over my upper body as I returned the favor, using both of my hands to squeeze and stroke his nipples in exactly the ways that I knew drove him crazy -- a definite advantage offered by spending more than a decade fucking the same person. In some ways, I felt like I knew Brian’s body as well as I knew my own.

When we got into the bedroom, I slid off his lap just long enough for him to move over to the bed, kicking my shorts off before I helped Brian pull his legs up. I massaged his feet for a moment, then worked my way up his legs, crawling on top of him once I got to his upper body. Nibbling gently at the side of his neck, I resumed working his nipples with my fingers until I drew a groan from him. Then, I let my tongue trail down his bare chest and abdomen, pulling his shorts off with my hands as I went. I took Brian’s entire length into my mouth, using my tongue to stimulate him until his cock began to harden. I continued to stroke him with my hand as I moved to kiss the inside of his thighs, looking up at him to make eye contact as he watched me touch him, his hazel eyes taking on the dark shade they often did when Brian was in a lusty mood.

Once Brian was fully hard, I reached behind his balls to massage the skin there, pressing firmly, knowing that if I touched Brian just the right way, he’d be able to pick up at least some internal sensation from his prostate. He’d told me it was nothing close to a normal level of sensation, and that he really had to be paying attention to notice it, but it was still a different way I could bring Brian pleasure, so I’d been trying to work it in more often when we had sex. I knew I’d found the right spot when Brian let out a breathy moan and pressed his head back into the pillows as he closed his eyes.

I kissed my way back up Brian’s abdomen, letting my fingers brush across his hips, lightly at first, then a little harder. When I got back to his mouth, I felt Brian’s fingers, slick with lube that I didn’t even remember him getting out, slide into my ass, pulsating in and out, occasionally brushing against my prostate. I knew every move Brian made as he prepared me was intentional, as he knew me every bit as well as I knew him.

He used one finger, then two, then three, until I wanted nothing more than to feel his cock inside me, filling me. I pressed my lips hard onto his, feeling our teeth click together before I pulled back again, sucking at Brian’s bottom lip as I did.

“Ready?” I asked, even though I knew the answer was yes from the hungry look Brian was giving me.

He nodded, continuing to gaze at me intensely as I positioned myself over him, then lowered my body down. I felt Brian’s fingers on my ass as he reached down to help guide his cock inside me before moving his hands to my hips, in what I knew was a way for Brian to take at least some control, guiding the motion of my body as I moved up and down. I leaned down to steal a kiss or two occasionally, but mostly I was focused on caressing the areas of Brian’s upper body that were his new pleasure centers -- rubbing his chest with my palms, massaging his nipples with my fingers, nibbling at his neck and his collarbones, and scraping my fingernails over the ultra-sensitive area of Brian’s hips where his sensation ended and numbness began.

I watched as my husband’s golden skin took on a slight flush, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, his eyes dark but so full of love and passion as he looked up at me, holding my gaze for a few precious seconds before he closed them and seemed to lose himself in a sea of pleasure. His breathing became more rapid, and mine soon followed suit as I felt my balls begin to tighten and the intensity of what I was feeling started to ramp up, until I found myself tipping over the edge into the same warm, blissful sea where Brian already was.

When the tremors of my orgasm subsided, I gently lowered myself down onto the bed alongside Brian, kissing him again, then nuzzling his neck as I felt his muscled arm come around my body, pulling me close against his side.

“Love you,” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to my temple. As much as Brian showed his love with action, I would never tire of hearing him say the words. I knew he would never write me poetry or profess his love for me in a lengthy soliloquy -- and that the closest he’d ever come would be our wedding vows -- but just hearing his voice say those two simple words meant more to me than any poem ever would, because I knew how hard it was for him to say them, even after all those years together. It made me feel warm and secure. Wanted. Desired. All things I’d struggled to feel for months, through no fault of my own. But Brian had been right there the entire time, helping me push through, even during the times when he felt he’d done more harm than good, or like he should have done more, or pressed harder to get me to open up. Looking back, I know that there were so many times when simply having Brian there as my anchor had kept me going -- kept me _here_.

That wasn’t something I liked to think about -- just how close I’d come to taking my own life in an act of pure desperation -- but it happened. It would always be there, in the background. A part of my life story. A turning point. And while it had been one of the darkest, most difficult times in my life, it had only brought Brian and me closer, strengthening our bond so that it seemed like there was nothing that could ever come between us again, because we’d seen it all. We added onto the promises we’d made to each other as we emerged from those dark days, vowing to always be honest and open with one another, even when it was uncomfortable. Even when it hurt. Even when it was scary. No matter what happened, or what challenges we would face in the future, we would get through it all together, as partners. We were stronger together. We always had been.

I’d felt so alone for so long, though, even with Brian right next to me, that somehow it seemed even sweeter now to feel his breath on the side of my face and the warmth of his body against mine, still sticky and sweaty from our afternoon interlude. I looked out the window, toward the ocean, taking in the gorgeous view -- all clear, blue water and sky to match -- still trying to process the fact that Brian had planned all of this for me. For us. The “alone time” he knew we both needed, just to be with each other, in the sun and the warmth, away from the cold and the gray skies that came along with winter with New York City.

Even with as elaborate as Brian’s scheme had been so far, I knew there was no way that a day of sunbathing on the beach and a sexy encounter in the bedroom were all Brian had planned for our anniversary, and a few hours later, I found out I was right. After a lazy afternoon lying in bed, then swimming in the private pool behind the house, Brian coaxed me back up to the bedroom, where he pressed a garment bag into my hands.

“Another one?” I raised an eyebrow, then watched Brian as he returned the gesture. “Brian, you know I don’t need any more suits.”

“I couldn’t decide,” he said innocently, shrugging his shoulders as a wry grin spread across his lips. “But you’re worth it. Now go change.”

Brian gave me a gentle push in the direction of the bed, where I laid the garment bag down while I unzipped it, revealing a light blue linen suit the same color as my eyes, and a cream-colored silk shirt.

“The traditional twelfth anniversary gifts are silk and linen,” Brian said, his voice uncharacteristically bashful, the way it always was whenever he said something remotely sentimental.

“I know,” I replied, my own voice equally soft, suddenly feeling embarrassed that I didn’t have Brian’s gift with me. “And the modern gift is--”

“Pearls,” Brian finished, as he rolled up behind me and laid a hand on the small of my back -- one of the familiar gestures that was just… us.

“Right. But Brian, this is--”

“Don’t tell me it’s too much. Nothing is ever too much for you.”

“But I don’t even have your gift, because I didn’t know we weren’t going home last night.”

“Sunshine, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Let me spoil you a little bit.”

I sighed inwardly, knowing that arguing with Brian was pointless, because he was probably the one person on earth who was more stubborn than me and I knew it. “Where’s the tie? Or am I supposed to wear the other one with this too?”

“No tie. Too formal.”

“This is still pretty formal for me.”

“Let it never be said that I haven’t tried to improve your atrocious fashion sense over the years. You, however, will simply not be moved.”

“What can I say? I’m set in my ways.”

Brian snorted. “You said it; not me.”

“And I like to be comfortable.”

“Well, try it on. I think you’ll find it to your liking.”

That suit turned out to be one of the softest, lightest things I’d ever worn, and it really was comfortable -- although it still wasn’t my style. Brian changed into a tan linen suit of his own that I could tell was custom-tailored -- engineered specifically for sitting. I’d never seen it before, so I had to assume Brian had treated himself to a few new suits when he’d gone shopping for me, but I couldn’t begrudge him that. He’d always worked hard and enjoyed nice things -- the fruits of his labor, so to speak.

We’d just finished dressing and come downstairs when the doorbell rang.

“That’ll be our ride,” Brian said, taking my hand in his and kissing it before gesturing toward the door. When I opened it, I found a man in a black suit standing on the other side.

“Mr. Kinney and Mr. Taylor?” he asked.

Brian nodded, and the man stepped back, revealing a black Mercedes in the circular driveway at the front of the house.

“Where are we going?” I asked, starting to feel a little bit like a broken record, always asking the same question. Though by then I really wasn’t expecting Brian to answer me, because he seemed to be enjoying his surprises a little too much on this trip.

True to form, Brian simply smiled at me, his eyes twinkling in the golden sunlight, saying nothing, while I shook my head and laughed softly to myself.

Our driver took us to the other side of the island -- which only took a few minutes -- to a dock, where a huge, luxury yacht was waiting.

“Is that for us? _All_ for us?” I blinked, still not quite able to believe my eyes, as I looked between Brian and the boat.

“Looks that way.” Brian grinned, giving me a look that told me just how much enjoyment he was getting out of spoiling me over and over again. I knew that private boat cruises weren’t cheap, but add in the challenges of finding a boat that was accessible for Brian, and I was sure that the cost had to be exorbitant. But Brian had never been frugal at any point when I’d known him (and was still the only person I knew of who’d “celebrated” losing his job by purchasing a plasma-screen television) so it didn’t surprise me that he’d spared no expense.

I didn’t realize I was still gaping and trying to wrap my brain around what was happening until Brian’s voice broke me out of my trance.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Sunshine? Let’s go check it out.”

Brian transferred out of the car as I pushed my own door open, attempting to bring myself out of my thoughts and back down to earth, though I kept thinking about the mother-of-pearl cufflinks I’d bought for Brian, wrapped and ready to go in one of my dresser drawers back in New York. It just didn’t feel right to be showered with gifts when I didn’t have a single thing to give in return, but there was nothing I could do about that. And clearly, Brian wasn’t worried about it, so I shouldn’t have been either, but I knew it was going to be difficult to let it go -- that was just my nature.

I shook my head, hoping that would also shake those thoughts out of my brain, then followed Brian onto the dock. There was a wide ramp with a handrail bridging the gap between the boat and the dock, and a man waiting on the boat to help us across. Brian went first, with me following behind, then we were led to the back of the boat’s upper deck, where a table was set with fine china and linens. No sooner were we both seated at the table than another man in a suit brought out a basket of bread and two salads. By the time I’d taken my first bite of salad, we’d already pulled away from the dock and started to move slowly out to sea, leaving our beautiful little island behind for the time being.

The meal was one of the most delicious I’d had in a long time -- which was saying something, because I’d never really met a food I didn’t like -- and when the dessert came out, it turned out to be yet another of Brian’s surprises. I thought it looked familiar when the waiter brought it out, but when I tasted it, I recognized the flavor immediately -- amaretto with vanilla buttercream, just as Brian and I had enjoyed together in our hotel room on the night after our wedding.

“Don’t tell me you had this cake flown in from Boston,” I said, taking a sip of my water.

“Well, it flew down with us. And Rob had a meeting in Boston on Thursday, so he was already going to be there, and I just figured… why not?”

“And why do I have a feeling that even if he hadn’t had a meeting there, you’d have still found a way to get this cake?”

Brian shrugged and took a bite of his own slice of cake. “I liked it. And if I’m remembering correctly, you thought it was positively orgasmic the first time we ate it.”

“Somehow I’m thinking the blowjob you were giving me while I was finishing up my slice had a _little_ something to do with that.”

The corner of Brian’s mouth quirked up into that little “who, me?” grin that he could always pull off so very, very well. “You know, tonight _could_ be an encore…” I felt Brian’s hand under the small table, working its way up my thigh.

“Brian,” I hissed, using my own hand to push his back toward him, since kicking him in the shin would have had absolutely zero effect. “There are other people on this boat. And we’re _outside_.”

“Whatever happened to the kid who blew me in the alley behind Babylon so many times?”

“He was a kid… and it was Liberty Avenue. There was no one around who would have been the least bit surprised.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re becoming a prude in your old age?” Brian smirked.

“I am not! Just because I don’t want a captive audience on a boat in the middle of the Caribbean Sea doesn’t mean I’m a prude.”

“Whatever you say…” Brian pulled his lips into his mouth and raised his eyebrows, then took a sip of his coffee, looking every bit like a Kermit-the-Frog meme.

Before I had a chance to defend myself, our waiter appeared with a bottle of champagne and poured us two glasses, then quickly left us alone. Brian raised his glass, gazing at me warmly, his hazel eyes somehow looking even greener than usual in the light of the setting sun.

“To us,” he said, his voice slightly husky. “And many, many more years together.”

“To us.” I clinked my glass against his and took a sip of champagne.

Brian smiled at me, then looked toward the edge of the boat, gesturing toward the sunset, which had been slowly painting the sky with red, purple, and orange. “There’s nothing quite like a sunset over the ocean.”

“It’s beautiful. And perfect. Just like you.”

I expected one of Brian’s smart-assed comments in response, but it never came. Instead, he reached across the table and laid his hand over mine, still smiling contentedly without saying a word, the shy look in his eyes belying the unflappable confidence he displayed in nearly every other situation.

We sat there together, sipping champagne and holding hands as the sun seemed to sink into the ocean, giving way to a mostly clear sky dotted with stars. When the cool breeze got uncomfortable, we went inside, using a lift to get to the lower deck, where there were leather couches and a full self-service bar, though neither of us indulged in anything more than what we’d already had.

I was a little surprised that Brian didn’t have another drink or two, but I chalked it up to solidarity, since my allowed intake of alcohol was still severely limited, and didn’t think too much of it. The two of us spent the rest of the evening sitting on one of the leather sofas, talking and enjoying a gorgeous view of the moon out the windows of the boat’s cabin.

By the time we pulled back into the dock, I could tell Brian was tired, although he was trying to hide it. I’d been hoping to go back to the house and let Brian have his way with me, as he’d apparently been itching to do earlier, but I knew I’d likely have to be the one to force Brian to go to bed and actually sleep, because he’d keep right on pushing until he felt he’d fulfilled everything he promised.

As our hired car pulled up in front of the house, I made up my mind that I was going to do everything in my power to get Brian into bed as quickly as possible, but my best intentions were thwarted by plans Brian had apparently already made. When I pushed the front door open, the first thing I noticed was that all of the furniture in the living room had been moved aside while we’d been gone, and the second thing I noticed was jazz music playing on the stereo system. I barely had time to process all of that before Brian took my hand and started moving to the music. The only light in the room was coming from the tiny white lights on the Christmas tree, giving it a romantic glow. Still holding my hand, Brian tugged me toward the middle of the room, then gently pulled me down into his lap. I draped my arms over his shoulders, holding him close as he turned and twirled us around the room. All else was soon forgotten as I lost myself in the music, feeling like everything in the world was right. And for that moment, it was. We had each other, and we always would.

***

I woke up a little after three in the morning and rolled over to put my arm around Brian, only to find his side of the bed was empty. And judging by the lack of warmth where the blankets were pulled back, it seemed he’d been gone for a while. It took me a moment to bring myself out of the post-sleep brain fog that was apparently now a permanent part of my existence, so I could be aware enough to realize I could hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom and compute what that probably meant -- that my husband wasn’t having a good night, and nerve pain was likely to blame.

A long, hot shower was often one of the only things that could provide Brian with some measure of relief when the burning sensation in his legs was particularly bad. It didn’t happen too often, but when it did, it usually led to a sleepless night and a day of Brian being very out-of-it, thanks to the potent medications he had to take to even begin to make a dent in what he was feeling. Hearing the shower running in the middle of the night meant it was bad, and I hated that for Brian -- not only that it was happening at all, but that it was happening in the middle of the dream vacation he’d planned for us, to boot.

I lay there awake, waiting for Brian to come back, even though my eyelids were heavy and I could tell that my brain still wasn’t firing on all cylinders. It took almost ten more minutes before the water shut off, and ten more after that before Brian came back, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, his hair still damp from the shower.

“You okay?” I asked, even though I knew the answer, mostly because I wasn’t sure what else to say, and I knew Brian wouldn’t start the conversation himself.

When Brian looked up at me, I could see the pain in his eyes, even in the dim light. He took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes for a few seconds before he spoke on the exhale, his voice tight with the same discomfort that was apparent in his gaze. “Go back to sleep.”

“That’s not what I asked.” I kept my own voice gentle, though even in my still half-asleep state, I was a tiny bit annoyed with Brian’s tendency to downplay anything that was going on with him.

Much more slowly than usual, Brian moved his feet off his footplate, then pivoted his body over to the bed, pausing to breathe for a moment before reaching down and moving his legs to the mattress, one at a time. “I feel like someone stuck my legs in an incinerator,” he said, his discomfort still clear in the tenor of his voice. “So no… not okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, wishing there was more I could do, even though I knew there wasn’t.

“Not your fault.” Brian settled back into the pillows, closed his eyes, and let out a long exhale that was followed by an inhalation so short it sounded more like a gasp. “Fuck…” he whispered, his breathing still uneven as he took several more breaths before speaking again. “I took enough shit to knock out a horse, so here’s hoping it works sometime soon.”

“I hope so.” I rolled onto my side, then reached out to stroke Brian’s forearm, hesitating a little because I knew that sometimes when his nerve pain was really bad, he didn’t want to be touched at all. When he didn’t pull away, I continued running my fingers lightly over his skin, hoping it was comforting, even if it didn’t take away his pain.

We were both quiet for a minute or two, me tracing hopefully-soothing patterns over Brian’s arm and the back of his hand, and Brian trying to breathe through the pain, before his voice broke the silence.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He sounded a little more like himself with that sentence, in both his tone and his tendency to put more importance on having disturbed me than on his own discomfort, though I knew from past experience that this flare-up was probably far from over.

“You didn’t; I woke up on my own, then realized you were gone. I just wish it hadn’t been because of this.” I watched Brian’s face, half-illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the large windows that lined the wall by the bed, feeling like I could see the internal fight between the intensity of his pain and his ever-present reflex to show no weakness, before he lost the battle and squeezed his eyes shut again.

“You and me both,” he mumbled, his words only decipherable because I was well-versed in understanding my husband when he was hurting and very distracted. He barely got them out before he was holding his breath again, and I felt the muscles of his arm tense beneath my fingers as he curled his hand into a fist.

“Is there anything I can do?” I whispered, knowing that the answer was probably no, although I really, really wished there was something -- anything -- I could do to help alleviate whatever Brian was feeling.

Brian didn’t respond for several seconds, instead turning his arm over and weaving his fingers through mine before he murmured, “Just be here.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.” I kept my own voice at a whisper, rubbing my thumb over the back of Brian’s hand, feeling his hand relax in mine the tiniest bit, before he tightened his fingers again as he rode out another wave of pain. “Deep breaths…” I said softly, still wishing I had more comfort to offer and cursing the fact that I didn’t.

The next breath Brian took seemed a little deeper, though his muscles were still tense. I laid there on my side, holding Brian’s hand and listening to the pace and quality of his breath change as the pain ebbed and flowed, until the muscles of his hand finally relaxed completely as he fell asleep. Only then did I let my own eyes close once again.

***

The sun was streaming in the windows the next time I woke up, though Brian was still sound asleep next to me, snoring lightly, his facial expression much more peaceful than it had been several hours earlier -- which I was grateful for. I hated seeing my husband in pain, especially when we were supposed to be relaxing and having fun together. I didn’t want to wake him, so I moved slowly and carefully as I got out of bed, then tried to make as little noise as possible in the bathroom and getting dressed in the walk-in closet. When I came out, Brian was still snoring, so I grabbed my sketchbook and my messenger bag, then headed out to the beach.

The tide was out and the water was calm, the sand slightly cool against the bottoms of my bare feet because the early morning sun hadn’t yet ascended high enough to warm it. But the sky was clear and a beautiful shade of blue, simultaneously blending and contrasting with the blue-green tint of the ocean and the white, sandy beach. I couldn’t believe how gorgeous this place was -- it truly seemed like a slice of paradise. Even with all of the expensive vacations to exotic destinations I’d been on as a kid growing up in the country club set, Brian somehow always managed to top them, and he’d outdone himself with this one, unquestionably. Add to that the fact that we hadn’t had to deal with any accessibility issues thus far -- which could put a significant kink in even the most well-planned vacation, and had for us on more than one occasion -- and this little island was pretty much perfect.

I walked the short distance to the cove I’d found the day before and sat cross-legged atop the same large, flat boulder. The slightly cooler temperature that morning had necessitated wearing my jeans and a hoodie, but I didn’t mind -- after all, it was still warmer than New York. Much warmer. And I couldn’t deny the effect that the sun and warmth had already had on how I felt, both mentally and physically. I loved snow, but the cold and gray parts of winter had always been something I could have done without. Dealing with depression on top of those two things could be a recipe for disaster, no matter how effective my meds were or how often I went to therapy or how much I exercised. Sunlight was some of the best therapy, and I took advantage of it whenever I could back home, but having comfortable temperatures alongside it -- not to mention being totally surrounded by beauty -- was exactly what the doctor ordered.

As I pulled my sketchpad and my favorite pencil out of my bag, I found myself thinking about Brian -- hoping that he was still resting comfortably in the bedroom of the luxurious mansion that was our temporary home-away-from-home. I knew from past experience that a flare that severe didn’t usually come out of nowhere, so chances were good that he’d been in pain for much longer than he’d let on, and that very well could have been the reason he’d been sleeping so much, as well as the reason he’d skipped having another drink on our boat cruise the night before. Of course, I also knew that although there often was no real cause for neuropathic pain other than damaged and confused nerves along Brian’s spinal cord sending the wrong messages to his brain, stress could definitely be a factor in making it worse. I’d seen it before, on more than one occasion, especially when Brian worked long hours, and he’d been working a lot of long hours lately, like he did every November and December.

Still, I had to wonder how much of Brian’s stress this time had started with me and all of the drama I’d caused back in the fall months. I knew that my depression wasn’t my fault, any more so than it would have been my fault if I’d been diagnosed with cancer or some other physical illness instead, but it was hard not to consider the possibility that some of Brian’s current pain could be traced back to me. Of course, as soon as my brain started entertaining that thought, I could hear Brian’s voice in my head telling me that it had nothing to do with me -- it was just something that happened sometimes. It was part of his life, and something he’d always have to deal with in some form, regardless of what was or wasn’t happening otherwise. That he’d get through it, just like always, and he’d be fine. That the last thing he wanted was me feeling guilty for anything.

I set my sketchpad down and laid back on the rock, feeling the coolness of its surface against the back of my head, though my sweatshirt was keeping my body warm. I focused on that feeling, along with the warmth of the sun on my face and its brightness on my closed eyelids, and the taste of the salty air on my tongue, using all of those things to ground myself in the present moment. Reminding myself to let go of guilt and worry, before my brain had an opportunity to run away with me. Reminding myself that Brian was fine, and _we_ were fine. After all, he’d planned this amazing trip for me. Now, maybe it was my turn to do something for him.

I doodled for a while, letting my unconscious mind guide my pencil as my thoughts wandered. I thought about Millie, hoping that she wasn’t too lonely without me, and that her packed “social calendar,” as Brian had called it, was keeping her happy. I thought about my mom, too, wondering what plans she and Mike -- her boyfriend of a few months -- had for Christmas, now that she wouldn’t be spending it with Brian and me in New York. Although apparently Mom coming to New York had never been the plan where she and Brian were concerned, so maybe she and Mike had had plans all along, and I just didn’t know about them.

I was still marveling at Brian’s ability to keep every aspect of the trip a secret, even though it was clear that several people had known about it -- my mom, Cynthia, and Rob, at the very least, plus Ted, more than likely, and all of the other people I didn’t know who had played some sort of role in helping him pull everything off. I wondered how long he’d been planning it, or if at least some of his long hours at work had been devoted to planning this trip (and getting ahead on work to make time for it). But that thought had a good chance of sending me down the road of feeling guilty again, so I acknowledged it and let it go, reminding myself again that Brian was an adult, and how he spent his time wasn’t my responsibility. Not even if I was the recipient of the results of said time-spent.

When my right hand got so tired I couldn’t hold onto the pencil anymore, I pulled out my phone and looked at the time, surprised to see that it was already late morning and a couple of hours had passed, though it felt like no time at all. Drawing had always had that effect on me. And I’d missed it, although my unplanned break from all things art-related had been necessary and had done wonders for allowing me to get some distance from feeling like it was an obligation and something that depleted me, instead of something I loved that filled me up.

I packed up my supplies and headed back toward the house, rolling up the legs of my jeans so I could wade in the surf as it inched its way back up the shore. When I got inside, Brian wasn’t downstairs, but I could hear the faint echo of smooth jazz floating down the staircase from the bedroom, which meant he was up -- or he’d been up, at least. I set my messenger bag down by the door -- even though I knew full-well that Brian would probably hassle me later for “leaving my shit lying around” -- and walked upstairs, where I found Brian still lying in bed, though this time he was dressed in a t-shirt and lounge pants, propped up on pillows with his glasses on, iPad in-hand. His phone was docked in the clock radio, and the music was much louder up there, though Brian turned it down once he realized I’d come into the room.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he said, giving me a lazy smile as he set the iPad on the bedside table, then took off his glasses and laid them on top of it. “I figured you must have gone out to the beach.”

“Shit, I forgot to leave you a note, didn’t I?”

“S’okay. Not too many places you could go without calling a ferry.” With a grunt, Brian shifted himself upward a little in the bed, then reached over to take a sip from his glass of water. When he picked the glass up, an open package lying behind it on the table caught my eye -- a package that I recognized as belonging to the marijuana-laced chocolate that Brian often carried with him if we were going somewhere that smoking would be frowned upon.

“Wait, where did you get that?” I rubbed my eyes, figuring they must have been deceiving me, but when I opened them again, the same wrapper was still there, and there was chocolate still in it too.

“Brought it with me.” Brian shrugged and set his glass back down, then picked up the chocolate, holding it out to me. “Want some?”

“No, I… You need it more than me. But how did you get that through customs? Didn’t they search your--” I didn’t even bother finishing that sentence, despite the fact that Brian hadn’t verbally cut me off. His smug grin and the twinkle in his slightly glassy eyes had the same effect, though. “You get away with so much shit, do you know that?” I shook my head and chuckled softly to myself, while Brian’s grin turned into more of a smirk.

“There are distinct advantages to having bags full of things that most people wouldn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole. Trust me, nobody is going to dig through a bag full of catheters looking for pot.”

“I still can’t believe you’d take the chance, though. You’re going to get caught one of these days. What are you going to do if you get arrested?”

Brian snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Because hauling a guy in a wheelchair to jail for having edibles and a THC vape cartridge in his carry-on is totally every cop’s wet dream.”

“You brought _more_? Christ, Brian--”

“Calm down. I’m not going to get caught. And if I do, I can afford a good lawyer. Besides, have I taught you nothing?”

“Oh, you’ve taught me plenty. I just didn’t think that smuggling drugs into foreign countries was intended to be part of the lesson.”

Brian snickered and let his head loll back onto the pillows, and that was when I realized exactly how high he was.

“How much of that stuff did you eat?” I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Brian, who let out a loud, contented sigh that was so, so different -- too different -- from the state he’d been in earlier that morning.

“Enough.”

“How much is ‘enough’?”

“Enough to not give a shit that the skin on my legs feels like it’s melting off.” Brian huffed out a laugh, which seemed like a strange thing to do after saying something like that, but his next sentence explained it all. “It was either be really, really high, or beg you to shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

“God, you haven’t been this baked in--”

“A long time, I know. But I was desperate.”

“Sounds like it.”

Brian let out a loud, long exhale and closed his eyes, as his expression suddenly sobered. “This sucks. I don’t want to be stuck here, lying in bed.”

“I know.” I reached out and took both of Brian’s hands in mine. “But maybe if you rest today, it’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Can’t be much worse.” Brian blinked his eyes open again, then lifted his head to look at me. “I guess I just wanted everything to be perfect, you know? And this wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Brian… It _is_ perfect. This is the best vacation I’ve ever been on in my entire life. All I want is for you to be able to share all of it with me. Even if that means we stay right here. I don’t care what we do… I just want to be with you.”

“Well, I guess I could search you for any goods _you’ve_ smuggled into this foreign country.” The corner of Brian’s mouth started to curl up into a smirk once again, as I fought the urge to roll my eyes at his all-too-predictable move to shift the tone of the conversation from ‘ridiculously romantic’ to ‘typical Brian Kinney.’

“Trust me, if I was smuggling anything, you would have already found it.”

“Is that so?” Brian quirked his eyebrow upward and tried to give me a leering look, though its impact was substantially diminished by the relaxed, somewhat-goofy grin he sometimes had when he was very high.

“Brian, you know I--” I started to say something about how I would never, ever do such a thing and he knew it, but Brian cut me off by pulling me toward him, until our lips met.

“Let me have my fun,” he murmured, before kissing me again, long enough for me to taste a trace of chocolate still on his tongue.

Because Brian’s kisses -- and what they usually led to -- had never been something I could resist, soon I was shedding my clothes and crawling into bed alongside him, then on top of him, as we made out. Brian had always been an expert at all things physically intimate, and our makeout sessions were one aspect of our relationship that had only gotten hotter over the years since we’d reunited.

As our lips moved together and Brian’s tongue swirled around mine, I started to push my hands under his t-shirt, anchoring them at his waist, more out of habit or muscle memory than out of conscious thought. But Brian quickly laid his hands over mine and moved them up to his shoulders -- his wordless communication with me that he intended to draw his own gratification from watching me and pleasing me, rather than by my touch, which wasn’t unusual when Brian was in the midst of a pain flare.

We made out for a while, with Brian’s fingers, mouth, and tongue slowly bringing me closer to climax, while I savored every last touch and kiss. Then he reached over and opened the drawer of the nightstand, producing our favorite sex toy -- another thing I couldn’t believe he’d taken through customs. Clearly he’d been planning ahead. It wasn’t long before he had it inside me, employing the intimate knowledge he had of my body and all of the things that drove me wild and made me feel like I was floating on a cloud of bliss, up until the moment when I could no longer hold back. 

“Guess I’m changing,” Brian chuckled as he looked down at his shirt, which now bore the physical evidence of what we’d just done. He was still wearing the same lazy smile, joined now by heavy eyelids as he floated on his own cloud of bliss, thanks to a combination of arousal and THC.

“Easier than changing the sheets.” I laid down next to Brian, snuggling into my favorite spot under his arm, with my head on his shoulder.

“True. Especially with me stuck in the damn bed for the foreseeable future.”

“Well, with any luck, maybe you won’t be. Think positive.”

Brian snorted. “Not sure I’d count too much on my ‘luck,’ given how things have been going for me lately.”

I knew some of what Brian was referring to, though a lot of what he’d told me I didn’t quite understand, given that I hadn’t worked in the advertising business in years, and I’d never done Brian’s job. Mostly, though, it sounded like there was simply too much work to go around and not enough people or hours in the day to take care of it. But of course Brian insisted that he could handle it, as always, and now he was paying the price.

“I’m just hoping I don’t go back to work when we get home and find a disaster of epic proportions,” he sighed. “And I’m trying not to worry too much about it, because I know I need to relax… I need this time. That’s part of why we’re here. It’s just hard for me to slow down.”

“Guess that’s why your body forces you sometimes.”

“Probably.” Huffing out a laugh, Brian tightened his arm around my shoulder, then pressed a kiss to my temple. “I told Keith that we wouldn’t need the butler too much, but I can call him if you want… so you don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You’re on vacation too; you shouldn’t be stuck cooking and waiting on me hand and foot.”

“Brian, I mean it. I really don’t mind. I love to cook.”

I stopped short of saying, ‘And I love taking care of you,’ because I knew exactly how Brian -- ever the independent spirit and the quintessential picture of a self-made man -- would react to that. But it was true. Brian had done so much for me when I was mired in the depths of my depression, and he was still doing so much to help keep me out of that dark place -- this trip not the least of the many, many things he’d done for my benefit. I would never, ever begrudge Brian anything he needed, regardless, because I love him, but I really do enjoy taking care of him. I always have, going all the way back to cooking him a huge pot of Debbie’s chicken soup and forcing him to eat it after his radiation treatments.

Brian let out another sigh, this one more resigned, though it bore a slight hint of frustration too.

I rolled onto my side and kissed his cheek before murmuring, “You stay here, and I’ll get you a new shirt.”

Once I’d put my own clothes on -- electing to change into sweats to be more comfortable -- I retrieved one of Brian’s neatly-folded black t-shirts from a shelf in the walk-in closet, then took it out to him, helping him out of the old one before handing him the new one. I was surprised he let me do that, though his lack of resistance was a truer testament to how shitty he felt than anything he’d ever say out loud.

“Have you eaten anything?” I asked. “Besides the chocolate.”

“Nope… breakfast of champions.”

“I’ll make you something then. The usual?” Brian’s typical morning meal when he wasn’t feeling well was a simple omelet with veggies and a little bit of cheese, because it was easy on his stomach. Though honestly, I think for Brian, it was comfort food as well.

Brian nodded and let his eyes drift closed. “That sounds good… thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’m happy to do it.” I leaned down and kissed Brian’s cheek one more time and gave his forearm an affectionate squeeze. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” Brian’s mumbled response was barely audible, and as I turned to leave and head back downstairs, I wondered if he’d even be awake by the time I got breakfast made.

Once I got to the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator, looking over its contents as I wondered how much money Brian must have given the butler to stock the fridge. I was briefly tempted to go “fancy” and utilize the prosciutto and gouda cheese to make Brian’s omelet, but that would also make it quite a bit richer than anything he ate on a typical day, particularly when he was in pain, so I ended up pulling out the cheddar cheese and a small head of broccoli instead. Twenty minutes later, I was plating up a pair of broccoli-and-cheddar omelets, which I placed alongside two glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice on a tray I’d found in one of the cabinets. Then I went back upstairs, using the elevator this time because asking me to carry something heavy and keep my balance while going up the stairs was flirting with disaster, and the last thing I needed was to fall and hit my head while on a secluded island that was a nearly hour-long ferry ride from anything resembling a hospital.

As I’d anticipated, Brian appeared to be dozing when I entered the bedroom, but he fluttered his eyes open just as I got to the bed, giving me a relaxed smile. 

“Breakfast is served,” I said, carefully setting the tray down in the middle of the mattress before climbing into the bed myself and unfurling the cloth napkins with a flourish.

Brian laughed softly alongside me, as I handed him one of the napkins. “Busting out your old job skills, I see.”

“Might as well use them.” I shrugged and settled myself on the mattress in a cross-legged position facing Brian and the tray, so I could use it to hold my plate while I ate, given that asking my still-partially-paralyzed right hand to reliably hold either the plate or my fork was a no-go. Little things like that were still frustrating and probably always would be, but they were a part of life, and they were becoming less of a stumbling block with each passing day, month, and year, following the same path I’d watched Brian navigate a decade earlier.

Brian shifted himself upward in the bed and rearranged the pillows behind his back, then picked up his own plate. We ate without saying a whole lot, but we didn’t need to say much, really; we were with each other, and that was more important than anything else. I wondered what else Brian had planned for this trip that might end up falling by the wayside, but I didn’t want to ask because I knew if I did, Brian would wind up feeling guilty for being stuck in bed, and that was the last thing I wanted. I’d meant what I said about not caring what we did, even if we spent the rest of the trip hardly leaving the bedroom. As long as I was with Brian, I’d be content.

When we were both finished, I neatly stacked the plates, silverware, and napkins before setting the tray aside as Brian teased me once again, saying, “Once a server, always a server.”

“Shut up,” I said, grinning at Brian as I re-settled myself in the bed and waited for Brian to do the same. Once he seemed comfortable, I snuggled up to his side as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. His body was warm, his breath steady and even -- much improved from how it had been in the middle of the night -- and I had to marvel at just how effective marijuana was at relieving Brian’s nerve pain. It worked much more quickly and lasted longer than any prescription medication he’d ever tried; the only problem was public perception (and occasionally, local laws), though both of those things were beginning to change and shift, thankfully. The anxious part of me still hoped that Brian wouldn’t end up getting arrested going back through customs on the way home, assuming he didn’t consume everything he’d brought with him before we returned, but I didn’t blame him for smuggling it in, and honestly, I was glad he had, since it meant he wasn’t spending the day suffering.

I felt Brian’s fingers carding lazily through my hair, giving me a gentle massage as we lay there together in a comfortable silence. The view out the glass doors that led to the balcony from our bedroom was every bit as gorgeous as everything else on the island -- overlooking the white sand and turquoise water at the end of the boardwalk. I watched a cruise ship drift along in the distance, relishing the feel of Brian’s fingers lightly tracing a random pattern across my scalp until they gradually slowed to a stop as his breath began to deepen and take on the ever-so-slight wheeze he had when he slept.

Rolling onto my side, I laid an arm over Brian’s chest and used it to tug our bodies closer together before I settled in for a nap of my own, safe in the arms of the man I loved more than life.

***

When I woke again, the light in the room was quite a bit dimmer, though it was definitely still daylight -- the sun had simply moved across the sky to the other side of the house, signifying that it was mid-afternoon. Brian was awake beside me, reading a book on his iPad, though I no longer had my arm around him, probably because he’d already been up to go to the bathroom.

Once he realized I was awake, Brian turned to look at me and gave me a small smile. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and a little shy, in the way that it sometimes was in our more intimate moments.

“Hey,” I echoed. “Feeling any better?”

“Well, I no longer feel like my options are either scream, cry, or be totally blitzed out. So I guess that’s something.”

“It’s the small victories, right?”

“You’re starting to sound like Rob.” Brian chuckled as he closed the cover on his iPad and laid it on the nightstand, leaving his glasses on this time -- an action that told me he still wasn’t feeling one-hundred percent, because that was something he only did when he was really tired, even though I was sure that his optometrist probably wanted it to happen all the time. However, given that vanity and Brian Kinney were still pretty much synonymous, that option continued to be out of the question, despite myself, Cynthia, and Rob all three teasing him mercilessly when he squinted at things for no reason.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, tilting my head to look up at Brian. “Anyway, you hungry?”

Brian laughed and shook his head. “Not really, but I’m sure you are.”

“How’d you guess?” I grinned and rolled onto my side, facing him.

“Oh, only almost twenty years of experience.” The corner of Brian’s lip twitched up into a knowing smirk as he leaned back into the pillows.

“Has it really been that long?”

“Given that I’m getting perilously close to an age I don’t even want to think about, I’m going to say yes.”

“God, I swear it still feels like yesterday.”

“I’d believe that if it wasn’t for all the new aches and pains I discover every damn day,” Brian snarked, before turning serious again. “But yeah. I know.” He reached out and took my hand, weaving his fingers through mine. “I’m glad it happened. That I took you home that night.”

“Luckiest night of my life.”

“That’s debatable, Sunshine.”

“Shut up.” I untangled my hand from Brian’s so I could give him a playful shove. “I’ll think of it however I want to think of it. And I like to think of it as the most incredibly fortuitous thing that ever happened to me… I was in the right place, at the right time.”

Brian let out a dramatic sigh as he rolled his eyes. “If I agree to let you feed me, will you stop being sappy?”

“Hey, you’re the one who just treated me to the most romantic anniversary gift ever in the history of the world, so don’t even talk to me about being sappy.” I paused to give Brian a smirk that I hoped could rival his own. “Besides, for someone who claims to hate romance, you sure can be pretty damn romantic.”

Brian shrugged and looked away for a second before turning back to me, a somewhat-bashful look in his eyes. “You deserve it,” he said softly, still not quite making full eye contact. “I always thought you did. Even when I was convinced you deserved more than I could ever give you.”

“You’ve given me more than you even realize.” This time, I was the one taking Brian’s hand as I gazed into his eyes, which, as always, were giving away his true feelings even when he was reluctant to let them show. “I feel like the luckiest guy in the world.”

Brian opened his mouth -- I’m sure to argue -- but I cut him off.

“And don’t even give me that bullshit about how I don’t know what I’m talking about, because it’s not up for debate.” I squeezed Brian’s hand, then changed the subject, effectively saving him from where the conversation was headed, in exactly the way he’d tried to do a couple of minutes before with his sudden sarcasm. “Now, can I go make us something rich and cheesy?” I asked, giving Brian my full-wattage, get-whatever-I-want grin. “With lots of garlic? Pretty please?”

Brian let out another sigh, then laughed. “Sure,” he said, smiling genuinely this time. “I think you might even find the ingredients to make Debbie’s lasagna in the fridge if you look hard enough.”

“Really?” I’d noticed that the fridge was completely stuffed, but I’d honestly been too focused on omelet-making to pay much attention to what else was there. Still, I wasn’t surprised. Brian’s next statement, however, was much more of a surprise.

“I was going to make it for you, but clearly my body had other plans.”

I had to stop there for a moment, to marvel yet again at everything Brian had put into this trip -- all of the thought and planning, and how willing he was to go way outside of his comfort zone, considering that his normal cooking repertoire when he was alone in the kitchen typically consisted of stir fry or soup, and certainly never lasagna. All further proof of just how much he loved me -- not that I’d ever doubted it.

“I’d love some help, if you’re feeling up to it.” I said, once I’d found my voice again. “But it’s okay if you’re not. I can bring you dinner in bed too.”

“No, I’ll come down.” Brian pushed himself up to a sitting position, pausing for a few seconds, probably to evaluate whether or not he was feeling lightheaded from the increased dose of his medications, as tended to happen sometimes. “I think I’m okay now. And I’m tired of being in bed.”

“Okay, then. Let’s make use of the totally-fucking-amazing gourmet kitchen this place has.”

“Lead the way.”

I couldn’t help but notice that Brian was still moving slowly as he transferred from the bed to his wheelchair, then grabbed his iPad and phone off the nightstand and laid them in his lap before turning to follow me out of the bedroom. As we got into the small elevator together, I made a mental note that I needed to keep an eye on him, simply because he had a habit of pushing his physical limits -- particularly if it involved doing something for me -- and then trying his best to conceal any negative effects caused by said pushing. I didn’t want Brian pushing, though; I wanted him to be able to enjoy the luxurious vacation he’d planned for us just as fully as I was. And my own twenty years of experience being with Brian Kinney meant that I knew every trick in the book to make him take care of himself, even when he didn’t want to. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to fall back on that knowledge.

When we got to the kitchen, Brian immediately opened the fridge and started rummaging around, until he’d produced all of the ingredients to make the lasagna that had been the starring dish of so many of our little “family” gatherings back home in Pittsburgh. Now, it had become the ultimate comfort food for Brian and me, because it reminded us of the woman who had welcomed both of us into her home with open arms at different times, for different reasons, but with the same motherly love and understanding.

I gathered the components of the sauce and took them over to the six-burner gas cooktop that looked more like it belonged in a restaurant than a home kitchen, then reached up to grab a pot off the overhead rack so I could start assembling Debbie’s homemade marinara. A few minutes later, the entire kitchen smelled like garlic, and Brian and I were laughing and smiling together as we prepared our meal, occasionally singing along to the music Brian was playing on a bluetooth speaker from his phone.

I’d just sprinkled a generous amount of mozzarella in the middle layer of the lasagna -- surprised that Brian hadn’t objected at all, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth -- when I heard a familiar song start to play.

I recognized it immediately, and as the first strains drifted through the kitchen, followed by the opening lyrics I’d heard so many times in Debbie Novotny’s house, I couldn’t help but wonder why on earth Brian had “Do the Hustle” in his playlist.

“I never pegged you for much of a disco fan,” I laughed, as I spooned sauce over the next layer of noodles in the lasagna pan. “A little bit before your time, isn’t it?”

I expected Brian to make a snarky comment, probably something making fun of my own age, twelve years his junior, but when I turned to look at him, he quickly looked away, his cheeks bearing a slight flush as he softly said, “It reminds me of Debbie.”

Brian was hardly ever sentimental, but Debbie had always been someone who seemed to inspire a rare moment of nostalgic affection in my husband -- likely because she’d provided him with so much that his own home life had been lacking. She was, for all intents and purposes, Brian’s mother, and her death had been difficult for him; it still was, over a year later. And that song was tied up in so many memories of Debbie for me -- of all the times it would come on the radio while she was cooking and she’d rope whoever was close by into dancing with her. Usually it was Vic, but sometimes it was me, and it seemed probable that Brian would have been her less-than-willing dance partner on more than one occasion during his youth, if not his adulthood as well. So I was sure that, for Brian, the song held many memories as well.

Brian blinked and cleared his throat, then started to move toward the table. “I’ll change it,” he said, a barely-perceptible thickness in his voice.

“No.” I quickly wiped my hands on a nearby towel before reaching out to grab his arm. “Let’s dance.” I gave Brian my best sunshine smile as I took his hands in mine and started to move to the music, by myself at first, until he started to join in, moving his wheels with one hand and then the other before he finally pulled me down into his lap. He moved us easily through the spacious kitchen along with the beat, spinning and turning as we both laughed at how ridiculous we must have looked, disco dancing in the kitchen. It was fun, though -- a happy memory of Debbie for both of us, the timing of which felt apropos, given that we were making her lasagna. Honestly, it made me feel like she was right there with us, dancing along, laughing and smiling. Maybe she was.

As the song faded out and was replaced with a more modern selection -- probably something Gus had introduced him to -- I laid my head on Brian’s shoulder, just enjoying the closeness for a few seconds.

“I miss her,” Brian whispered, his voice wistful as he leaned his cheek against the top of my head and tightened his arm around me.

“Me too.” I lifted my head and kissed Brian’s cheek, wrapping my own arms around his shoulders and giving them a squeeze before I slid off his lap, then took one of his hands and tugged him back toward the counter. “But I can’t think of a better way to remember her than by making this.”

Brian nodded without saying a word, then picked up the spoon to spread some ricotta cheese over the top layer of noodles. His eyes were suspiciously bright, and I saw him swallow hard -- the way he always did when he wanted to push back an emotion he didn’t want to show outwardly. I laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle smile. His eyes shone in the light as he returned it, wordlessly acknowledging everything neither of us was saying.

I shifted the conversation to lighter topics as we finished assembling the lasagna, then opened a bottle of red wine to enjoy while we waited for it to bake. Brian only drank one glass and didn’t go back for another, raising a red flag for me that made me tune in a little more to the way his jaw and throat would tighten on occasion, and the way his gaze would shift from soft and open to hard and distracted as he breathed through a wave of pain, trying his damndest to act like nothing was wrong. And he would have been pulling it off, if not for our long history together and his all-too-predictable tendency to mask any discomfort at all costs. Still, I didn’t say anything -- I simply snuggled up to his side and squeezed his hand, relaxing into his warm embrace and hoping it brought him some comfort as well.

We ate dinner on the deck just as the sun was setting, reminding me of the luxurious boat ride we’d been on the night before and how amazing it was. Though honestly, enjoying a meal we’d prepared together was every bit as wonderful. It was quiet and simple, and something I loved doing when we were at home too, because it was just a way to be together, and to make a mundane task into something relaxing and fulfilling.

After dinner, we took advantage of the outdoor jacuzzi tub, which I hoped would help ease some of Brian’s discomfort. It seemed to, though it wasn’t long before I could tell he was getting tired -- something that always happened much more quickly when pain was wearing on him. He had his head leaned back and his eyes closed, breathing deeply, when I decided it was time to get him inside by employing one of the many, many tricks I’d learned over the years.

I stretched and let out an exaggerated yawn, which prompted Brian to slowly open his eyes. He blinked a few times, looking disoriented, and I wondered if he’d actually been asleep, which only proved my point that I was doing the right thing in trying to get him upstairs and into bed. I just hoped I could pull it off without Brian realizing what I was doing and attempting to push right on through just so he could prove me wrong.

“Why don’t we go upstairs and watch something on Netflix for a while?” I suggested, already reaching for my towel.

Brian nodded and let out a yawn of his own, followed by an exhausted sigh. “That sounds good.”

I laid an extra towel in Brian’s chair and waited for him to make his way out of the tub using the motorized lift, which I was incredibly thankful was there, because it made getting in and out a lot easier on Brian. He would have made it happen regardless -- because Brian had always been about proving he could do everything by himself -- but I hated watching him struggle and knowing that he’d likely refuse help in the name of pride.

Once we’d both dried off, we went upstairs and showered, then settled into bed together.

“What do you want to watch?” I asked, nestling myself in my favorite position against Brian’s side, tucked under his arm, as I brought up Netflix on the gigantic television that took up most of one wall in the bedroom.

Brian shrugged and sighed as he leaned back into the pillows. “Whatever you want, Sunshine.” He sounded tired, and his words were a little slurred, which wasn’t surprising, given the number of pills I’d seen him take as I came out of the bathroom a few minutes earlier.

I put on a show I’d been watching on my own at the gym and thought Brian might enjoy as well, then set the remote aside and snuggled closer to Brian’s side, with my head resting on his shoulder. It wasn’t long before I looked up at Brian and saw that his eyes were closed and his jaw was slack -- he’d fallen asleep. Moving carefully so as not to wake him, I reached for the remote and turned off the television, then the lamp, settling in for sleep myself as I hoped that Brian would feel better come morning.

***

The next morning, I was surprised to wake up alone in bed. Of course, my first thought was that I hoped it was because Brian was feeling better and not worse, and that he wasn’t about to emerge from the bathroom in a state of continued pain and exhaustion, both physical and mental. I listened for the shower, but I didn’t hear anything, which was a good sign. When I rolled over, I saw that the bathroom light was off and the door was open -- another good sign. Then I smelled coffee brewing. Perhaps the best sign of all.

When I got downstairs, I found Brian at the table with his laptop, a steaming mug sitting alongside his right hand.

“I hope you’re not working,” I said, as I draped my arms around his shoulders from behind and bent down to kiss his cheek.

“Just checking my email… Making sure there aren’t any fires that need putting out.”

“If there are, I’m sure Cynthia will handle it.” I pulled out the chair next to Brian and sank down into it, then laid my hand over his, which was idle on the table. “And Ted. And the rest of the staff that you pay to do all of this hard work, so you don’t have to do everything yourself. So you can take a break sometimes and not have to worry.”

Brian sighed and turned his hand over, lacing our fingers together. “I know. I just… It’s my reputation on the line, you know? My name. My… legacy.”

“Since when are you thinking about Kinnetik as a legacy?”

“I don’t know. It’s… I could never have imagined when I started it fifteen years ago with the last of my savings, that I’d have an office in Manhattan. That I’d be competing with the guys I’d watched win all the awards when I was a lowly junior account exec at Ryder. That I’d have dozens of million-dollar accounts. National campaigns. That I’d fucking _buy_ an adaptive robotics company. Sometimes it feels like I’ve really made it, you know? But other times it still feels like I’m that 22-year-old kid, fresh out of college, trying to prove himself. Trying to make sure everything is perfect, and that it’s all my best work -- _our_ best work.”

“What are you talking about? Your work is always impeccable.”

“Not always.”

“Well, the clients are happy, right? And isn’t that all that matters?”

Brian shrugged and closed his laptop. “I guess. I just feel like it’s getting harder and harder to keep up… and I’m not getting any fucking younger.”

“Is this another age crisis, 18 months premature?” I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face when I said those words, with Brian’s histrionics over turning thirty still solidly in my memory bank.

Brian snorted, then shook his head. “I promise I’m not freaking out about turning fifty. Though I can’t believe I said that out loud. I just keep wondering what’s going to happen to the company when I can’t do it all anymore.”

As soon as Brian uttered those words, I could feel my anxiety rising up from the pit of my stomach and into my chest, lodging itself in my throat, making it hard to breathe. When I finally managed to speak, my voice was small and trembling slightly.

“Is... is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

God, I hoped there wasn’t. But my brain was already throwing all the possibilities at me, rapid-fire, and the one word that stood out the most in my mind was the one I wanted to think about the least -- cancer.

“No, no,” Brian said quickly, squeezing my hand and stroking my thumb with his own. “I’m fine. I promise.”

I let out a shaky breath and closed my eyes, feeling Brian’s fingers continue to tighten around mine as I struggled to push my anxiety back down.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Brian said softly, his remorse even clearer in his tone than it was in his words. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. Everything’s fine.”

In an attempt to keep my thoughts from running away with me, I chose to focus on my breath, and the feeling of Brian’s hand holding mine -- his warm, strong hand. His solid presence, grounding me. By the time I managed to open my eyes and speak, I wasn’t quite sure how many seconds -- or possibly minutes -- had passed.

“Then what brought all of this on?” I asked, still not sounding quite like myself. “Are you thinking about retiring?”

“It’s gonna happen someday, right?” Brian blinked at me, his eyes warm and understanding, though they still held a note of concern for me.

“Right, but… I guess I always thought I’d have to drag your 80-year-old ass out of your office, and you’d be screaming the whole way.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just reference the thought of me being an octogenarian.” Brian gave an exaggerated shudder. “Anyway, I was just… thinking.”

“Always a dangerous sign.”

“I believe that’s my line.”

“I think it might belong to both of us now. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine and all. Marriage.”

“Whatever. It’s still my line.”

I rolled my eyes and got up to pour myself a cup of coffee. “So, exactly how long have you been awake and brooding about your ‘legacy’?”

“Long enough. Maybe too long.” Brian sighed. “Can I blame it on my meds?”

“Maybe.” I smiled as I carried my own mug over to the table and rejoined my husband. “Narcotics do tend to make you a bit… morose.”

“That’s why I don’t like taking them. But, desperate times…”

“Is it any better today? Or is that why you’re down here indulging in a generous helping of gloom and doom alongside your coffee?”

“Actually, I’m good.” Brian paused and took a sip of his coffee. “Really good.”

I was glad to hear that, but I could also sense that Brian probably needed a distraction, particularly given where his thoughts had already gone that morning.

“What do you say we go out and explore today?” I asked, watching Brian as he put his mug back down and shifted himself back a little in his chair with a low grunt. “We could check out what’s around the island. If you’re up to it.”

“There’s not a whole lot here, really. Just houses and beaches. Everything’s back on the main island.”

I’d really intended on keeping everything low-key for Brian’s sake, and taking the ferry to the main island didn’t seem to fit that bill, so I was about to suggest spending the day lounging on the deck at the end of the boardwalk or taking a stroll to check out the real estate on the rest of the island, when Brian interrupted my thoughts by taking my hand in his.

“We can go if you want,” he said. “There are art galleries and restaurants, and I know you love those historic tours. I’d actually planned on taking you there yesterday, but… well.” He shrugged and looked down, obviously feeling guilty for how his body had betrayed him and managed to simultaneously back-burner some of his plans for the trip.

“It’s okay. What’s it going to take for you to believe that I don’t care what we do? As long as we’re _here_ , together, that’s all I care about.”

“No, let’s go today. I mean it.”

“I don’t know…” I bit my lip and tried to push back the anxiety that was still lingering in the back of my brain, this time conjuring up thoughts of what would happen if we were out and Brian had a sudden flare-up, and I had to find a way to get him back to the house.

“Sunshine, I’m fine.” Brian smiled at me and squeezed my hand, as if he could read my thoughts. And at this point in our marriage, he probably could. “Really. We should go. It’s a beautiful place -- lots to see and do. And there’s shopping.” Brian’s eyes twinkled as he winked at me, before taking another sip from his coffee cup.

“You can shop at home,” I laughed. “And you do. Ad nauseum.”

Brian pretended to look offended for a split second, before shrugging as he chuckled softly to himself. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. So, what do you say I make us breakfast, and then we’ll catch the ferry?”

“How about we make breakfast together?” I smiled, remembering how much fun Brian and I had had in the kitchen the night before, making lasagna, dancing, laughing, and teasing each other. Something we used to do all the time, that we hadn’t done nearly as much in recent months. Something I’d realized I wanted to get back to.

The corners of Brian’s lips curved upward into a small smile of his own that told me he felt the same way, even though I hadn’t said any of that out loud. “Sounds good, Sunshine.”

The two of us made breakfast, then showered together and got dressed, before Brian called for a car to take us to the dock. I saw him give a side-eyed glance to my previously-abandoned messenger bag -- still in a heap on the floor by the front door -- but he said nothing. When we got to the dock, we caught a ferry to the main island, which looked a lot different in the daylight than it had in the dark of night. It was just as beautiful as the island we were staying on, though there was substantially more civilization, including entire blocks of brightly painted buildings that seemed to add to the tropical feel just with their color scheme alone. And there were a lot of tourists apparently spending the holidays in paradise, just like we were. But even in a throng of people, Brian had always been able to make me feel like we were the only two people there, that was exactly how I felt that day, holding Brian’s hand as we explored, without a care in the world.

We spent an hour on a walking tour of a historic neighborhood, taking in the sights, before I couldn’t resist the art galleries any longer. I expected Brian to be impatient, or that he’d want to duck out after a few minutes and tell me that he’d catch up with me in an hour or two somewhere else, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t. He stayed right there with me, and I kept feeling his hand come to rest on the small of my back as I took in the various paintings, sculptures, and photographs at the half-dozen galleries I found on a single street. Every time I stole a glance at him, he was looking back at me, a contented half-smile on his face, as if he was simply enjoying watching me. Soaking it all in.

I’d been catching him doing that a lot more often in the past month or two, though I tried not to think about what had likely brought it on -- nearly losing me to the darkness my own mind had created and kept me mired in for so long. It seemed like he could never get enough of holding my hand or being close to me any chance he got, and that day was no exception.

We were sitting at a small cafe having lunch -- fish tacos for me and a salad for Brian -- when a text notification came through on my phone. I expected it to be from my mom, probably her checking in to see what I’d thought of Brian’s grand anniversary scheme, but it turned out to be a selfie from Esme, sitting in our living room in front of the picture window that looked toward downtown, with Millie curled up in her lap.

I turned it around to show it to Brian, who immediately grinned and said, “Told you Millie had quite the social calendar. Esme’s spending the afternoon there. I’m pretty sure her ulterior motive was getting a break from her sister, but riding the subway into Manhattan by herself was definitely a key side benefit, I’m told.”

“I feel her pain when it comes to much-younger sisters. Particularly the ones who seem to exist purely to antagonize you,” I laughed. “And trying to find ways to establish your freedom and independence. Although I see the parental side now too, though, because honestly that thought makes me a little nervous, even though she obviously made it up there just fine.”

“She’s growing up.”

“She is. And even though she’s not ours… she’s still family, you know?”

Brian nodded and took another bite of his salad, chewing and swallowing before he spoke again. “If she ever gets Gus to pay attention to her, maybe it’ll be official.”

“I think maybe we should wait until she gets a little older before we start wishing for that.”

“Didn’t stop you.”

“I wasn’t thirteen.”

“No, but you _were_ in high school, and I was six years into my career at that point, with a college degree.”

“Seven. Seven years.” I gave Brian a pointed look, accompanied by a teasing grin. “Remember, you were twenty- _nine_.”

“Whatever,” Brian said, rolling his eyes as his lips took on the shape of his trademark smirk.

“I love you.” I laid my right hand over Brian’s left, which was resting idly on the table. He looked up at me and smiled that shy smile that would always make me feel like I had butterflies in my stomach, then turned his hand over and curled his fingers around mine.

“This place is pretty damn romantic, huh?”

“The best. I still can’t believe you did all of this for me. I keep thinking about that, and wondering how on earth I’ll ever repay you.”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways.” Brian’s voice took on a low, sultry tone, his eyes glimmering with mischief.

“I’m sure you can,” I laughed.

“But seriously, no repayment necessary. I wanted to do this for you. For both of us. I guess I’ve sort of realized how much I’ve missed out on, being so caught up in the rush of everything that’s going on around me.” Brian looked down at his plate and took a breath, two familiar mannerisms that told me our conversation was about to take on a much more serious tone, and was also broaching a subject that made Brian a little uncomfortable. “And I think that’s what got me thinking about what my life would be like if I took a step back. What _our_ life would be like. If we could do things like this more often. But then I look at everything that’s going on at Kinnetik, and I wonder how I could ever make it happen. I love that the company is growing so much, but I feel like I can’t keep up.”

“Maybe it’s time for the company to grow a little more,” I said gently, stroking my thumb across Brian’s knuckle. “More employees, that is. Hire some more ad execs, and promote some of the ones you’ve had for years. Make it so you don’t have so much that’s falling to you and Cynthia. I know you love what you do, so I’m not asking you to retire -- that’s your decision, and I’ll support whatever you feel is right -- but I really hate watching you exhaust yourself with these long hours, and I hate even more watching what happens afterward, when it finally catches up with you. Like yesterday.”

Brian let out an audible breath, but he didn’t look up, and he didn’t say anything, so I kept talking.

“You can’t keep running yourself into the ground, and you shouldn’t feel like you have to.”

Brian nodded slowly, still looking down, and still not saying anything.

“You’ve paid your dues, Brian. You’ve earned this. Let yourself enjoy it.”

We sat there together in silence for a few seconds, me holding Brian’s hand as he breathed, his gaze still fixed on his plate, though it was obvious he was deep in thought.

“You’re right.” Brian’s voice was soft and a little rough when he finally spoke. I saw him swallow hard, and I wondered what had been going through his head while I was pleading my case. When he looked up, there was a sheen to his eyes that hadn’t been there a few minutes before, and that made me even more curious, but I knew if he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. I had to let him try to make sense of it first, and given the fact that what he was likely thinking about went against his lifelong never-give-up-or-give-in, always-push-through work ethic, I was sure it would take a while.

“What was that?” I teased, hoping to lighten the mood as I tightened my fingers around Brian’s hand. “I’m not sure I heard you.”

“You heard me.” Brian grinned and cleared his throat, and I knew my mission had been accomplished. “But, you’re right. I want more for us than what we’ve been doing. I don’t want to get so caught up in going through the motions that I end up missing out on life. I’ve done that before, over and over again, and every time, I realize it was a mistake, but then I go right back to it. And I don’t know why.”

“It’s comfortable,” I supplied. “Just like when you kept pushing me away because you were afraid to let yourself love me. Because you didn’t think you deserved it. Tricking and not letting yourself get attached was comfortable. So you kept going back to it. But you took a chance eventually. You jumped, and it all worked out in the end.”

“I got pushed off a fucking cliff, Sunshine.” Brian took his hands off the table and shifted his weight in his wheelchair. “Some shit had to change.”

“Sometimes we get pushed. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t changing and growing, even if it was forced in the beginning. We get to choose how we deal with things. How we move forward.”

“You’ve been spending too much time at therapy.”

“Maybe so. But I’m right, and you know it. This is just another opportunity to jump.” I leaned forward and looked into Brian’s eyes, seeing there all that he usually tried to keep hidden -- mostly his vulnerability and fear -- alongside the deep love and trust we both shared. “I’ll be right here,” I said softly. “Holding your hand the whole way.”

***

We spent the rest of the afternoon taking in even more of the sights and had dinner at a restaurant that I felt substantially underdressed for in my jeans and t-shirt, even though Brian said it didn’t matter because he was paying the same money as the honeymooners in their suits and dresses and we could wear whatever the fuck we wanted. Then, we caught the last ferry of the evening back to the small island we were calling home, at least for a few more days.

As I sat next to Brian on the nearly-empty boat, holding one of his hands as he scrolled through email on his phone with the other, I found myself imagining what our life _could_ be like if Brian spent less time on work and we had more free time together. Or if he retired and we had nothing _but_ free time, to do whatever we wanted. Not that I could see him taking it that far -- at least, not yet. But having some more time together sounded like a dream, and it was one I hoped Brian would follow through on. In the meantime, though, I’d thought of a couple of different ways I could pamper him a little on this trip -- in the same way he’d already taken care of me -- and I hoped I could manage to pull it off.

We went to sleep that night content, tangled in each other’s arms just as we’d always loved to do, listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of the ocean waves outside our open balcony door. I woke up first the next morning, and decided to seize the opportunity to do something a little different -- something for Brian.

An hour later, I was pulling a quiche out of the oven and making a pot of coffee, and a few minutes after that, I heard the elevator doors open and Brian emerged, still in his pajamas, with his hair sticking up in all directions. I’d always loved seeing him uncoiffed and unpolished, just after waking up -- when his expression was soft and his eyes still a little sleepy, his protective walls down for the moment.

“What’s all this?” Brian asked, pushing himself into the kitchen as he gestured toward the spread I was still working on taking over to the table -- the quiche, fruit, and croissants.

“Breakfast.” I smiled as I watched Brian reach for a mug and pour himself a cup of coffee, doctoring it up in the same way he always had, with way too much sugar.

“I told you that you didn’t have to cook. Seriously, I’ll call today, and I’ll make sure all of our future meals are taken care of.”

“Brian, I really don’t mind. I love to cook, and I love this kitchen, and honestly I’d be sad if I didn’t take full advantage of it while we’re here.”

“Is that a thinly-veiled hint that you’d like to renovate when we get home?” Brian slowly made his way to the table, shifting his coffee cup from one hand to the other.

“I certainly wouldn’t turn it down if you wanted to gift me a kitchen makeover for Christmas.” I grinned as I cut the quiche and plated it up.

“Oh, so this trip wasn’t enough for you?” Brian chuckled.

“I’m teasing.”

“I know. But I just might take it seriously.” He quirked an eyebrow upward and loudly slurped his coffee.

“Even better for me, then. I get this trip _and_ a new gourmet kitchen.”

“You’re such a princess.” Brian smiled and shook his head as he took his first bite of quiche. “And a spoiled brat.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Your mother’s.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you thought so… then we’ll see who’s her favorite son after that. But seriously, it’s Christmas Eve. I’m not calling someone to make them work on Christmas Eve. Besides, we still have lasagna, and I think we might even have the stuff to make some cookies.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be leaving cookies for Santa?”

“Not for Santa, for us.” I rolled my eyes. “Unless you’re too good to engage in a little old-fashioned baking.”

“I could maybe be persuaded…” Brian raised his eyebrow again and gave me a lascivious look.

“It’s always sex with you, isn’t it?” I laughed.

“Hey, you married me. You knew perfectly well what you were getting into.”

“Indeed I did.” I leaned over and cupped Brian’s cheek with my hand, turning his face toward me so I could kiss him. “And I’m happy to continue living up to your lofty expectations…” I let my fingers slide down Brian’s jawline, then his neck, taking my time as I let my fingernails drag over the hollow between his neck and collarbone that always made him tilt his head back and close his eyes.

“If you want me to eat this breakfast you’ve been slaving over, you’d better keep your hands to yourself,” Brian murmured, a little bit breathless.

“Mmmm,” I hummed, kissing Brian one last time before pulling my hands back into my lap. “Later, then.”

“Later.”

We made good on that promise before we’d even managed to clean up the kitchen, with a slow fuck in the king-sized bed upstairs, taking our time with each other. Setting the pace for what turned out to be a leisurely day of swimming and reading and drawing and lying in the lounge chairs on the deck, capped off by baking cookies together and enjoying them -- still warm -- in the living room, in front of the Christmas tree.

I was just getting up to take our empty plates into the kitchen -- and debating grabbing a couple more cookies for myself -- when Brian’s phone started to ring with a FaceTime call. No sooner had he swiped to answer it than I heard a familiar little voice, practically shouting, “I wanna talk to Uncle Brian!”

A huge smile spread across Brian’s face -- one of those rare ones that was reserved for a very short list of people who got to see the “real” Brian Kinney -- as he propped the phone up on the coffee table so we were both in frame. Sophia was talking about a million miles a minute, sitting between Rob and his mother on their sofa. I could see Adam on Rob’s other side, and Esme sitting on the floor in front of them with Millie in her lap -- a circumstance I was dying to ask about, but no one on our end or theirs could get a word in edgewise with Sophia practically bouncing up and down as she begged Rob to let her talk first.

“You are talking first,” Rob chuckled. “See, they’re right there.” He pointed at the phone, and Sophia paused just long enough to allow everyone to wave and say hello -- with Rob’s dad peering into the frame from the armchair on the other side of the couch -- before she launched into a breathless story I could barely understand through her excitement.

“Slow down a little, Soph. Take a breath.” I heard Adam’s soft voice on the other end of the line, and I saw Sophia give him a look that would probably get her in trouble on more than a few circumstances one she got a little older, but she did slow down enough for us to get the gist that they’d all gone ice skating at Rockefeller Center.

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Brian said, not at all in the sarcastic tone with which he would normally utter those words. With Sophia, it was always genuine. He loved her, even when she was acting like a brat, and I was pretty sure that the entire reason was because he found it amusing to watch her barrel through life with such excitement and gusto combined with a side of elementary-schooler sarcasm, while Rob and Adam struggled to keep up with her.

“Yeah, and I got Papa to go with us out on the ice this time!”

“You did?” Brian leaned forward, and I saw Rob shaking his head, though I could tell he was smiling. “How’d you do that?”

“He didn’t wanna do it, but I made him not scared anymore.” Sophia threw her shoulders back and gave her hair a little flip -- one of those moves that makes me both afraid and excited for what she’ll be like when she’s a teenager.

“She had some help,” Rob said, as he turned and gave his mom a meaningful look.

“Oh, I think she was pretty convincing all on her own,” Rob’s mom chimed in, her eyes twinkling in exactly the way Rob’s always did when he said something conspiratorial. “I just reminded you what a daredevil you were at her age.”

“Sophia can be pretty convincing,” Brian chuckled, probably remembering the many times she had gotten him to do something he didn’t really want to do, simply by batting her eyelashes at him as she said ‘pretty please.’

“And I got to pull him around on the ice and we danced and we saw the big Christmas tree, and it was sooo much fun,” Sophia enthused, still bouncing a little in her seat. “And then we came home, and Nana and me made cookies for Santa, and I got to decorate some of them, and she let me lick the icing bowl when we were done.”

“And you promised Nana you’d help her clean up the kitchen if she helped you make cookies, remember?” Rob said gently, placing a hand on Sophia’s knee. “It’s almost bedtime, so you’d better get to it if you want to be in bed in time for Santa Claus to come.”

Sophia looked dejected for a split second, before Rob’s mom leaned down to whisper something in her ear that brightened her smile back up again before she jumped up from the sofa, waved bye to both of us, and followed her grandmother out of the frame.

“You’re never getting her to bed tonight,” I laughed. “But you probably already know that.”

“I’m hoping Santa Claus will be an effective enough bargaining chip, but we’ll see.” Rob smiled as he shifted slightly on the couch, then wove his fingers through Adam’s, bringing both of their hands to rest on his thigh.

“In the meantime, I’m wondering just how it is that it appears my cat has found her way to Brooklyn all on her own.” I smiled and raised an eyebrow as Esme looked down at Millie, who was curled up in her lap.

When Esme spoke, she was quiet and I could hear the hesitation in her voice -- the anxiousness and doubt that she always had, even in situations where she should have been confident. “I just didn’t want her to have to spend Christmas alone,” she said softly, as she stroked the fluffy white fur on Millie’s back. “And I know you take her to the studio with you sometimes, so I knew where everything was, and I… I guess I should have asked first...”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted Esme before she could get too far down a road I was all too well-acquainted with -- the road of running all of the scenarios of what you should have done differently. I smiled my biggest, most reassuring smile before I continued, shifting the tone with humor. “Just remember, it’s not finders keepers.”

Esme returned my smile, looking visibly relieved. “I know. I promise I’ll bring her back first thing when you guys get back.”

“I know you will,” I said. “Take good care of her.”

“I will.” Esme scooped Millie up from her lap and got up, waving a quick goodbye to us as she said goodnight.

“So how was the skating?” Brian asked, the corner of his lip just starting to turn up into a smirk. “I’m pretty sure I remember you telling me you were never getting out there, no matter how much she begged.”

“It was fun, actually. And I thought people would stare, but everyone was so wrapped up in what they were doing with their own families and their girlfriends and boyfriends on their Christmas Eve dates that no one was really paying attention to us.” Rob paused and looked down, clearing his throat before he continued. “I never thought I’d be able to do something like that again, but it was nice to be out there with my family, and not just sitting on the sidelines being the photographer, you know?”

Brian nodded and pulled his lips into his mouth, but didn’t say anything. I wondered what was going through his head -- if he was thinking about anything that he felt he’d missed out on that was no longer an option -- but I wasn’t sure it would ever be my place to ask, no matter how much I’d love to make it happen for him.

Rob pulled us both back to the present moment when he turned the conversation toward us and our trip by asking what we thought of the island and the house. “It sounded amazing,” he added. “I’m gonna have to borrow your client sometime, so I can convince him to let us vacation there too. And I’m gonna have to ask the boss for a raise so I can afford it.”

Brian laughed and rolled his eyes, his smirk returning. “Aren’t _you_ the boss when it comes to Kinnected?”

“Yeah, but you pay my salary, last I checked.” Rob gave Brian a smirk of his own before changing the subject back to us by asking about how our anniversary dinner had gone, revealing how much he’d known about the details of the trip and making me wonder if he’d had an active role in planning some of this, beyond helping see to Millie’s care and keeping things going smoothly at Kinnetik and Kinnected. If he had, he didn’t say, but it made me smile to think about he and Brian, sitting in Brian’s office while Brian bounced ideas off of him. Rob’s sense of romance was a good bit more pronounced than Brian’s and had definitely helped shape the current “ridiculously romantic” version of himself that Brian could be at times, so it seemed likely he’d played at least some part in planting the seed of the romantic evening we’d had a few days before.

“I think maybe there’s something that could be done.” Brian arched an eyebrow upward. “After all, I did promise you’d be able to take time when you needed it.”

“Brian, I’m fine,” Rob said. “Really. You’ve done more than enough. I was kidding.”

“I know.” Brian’s smirk morphed into a genuine grin. “But I might not be kidding. Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

“He’s been on a roll here lately,” I chimed in, giving Brian’s shoulder a playful nudge.

“Why don’t we let you two lovebirds go?” Adam’s soft voice joined the conversation. “Send us some pictures tomorrow so we can see what we’re all missing up here in the cold.”

“Sounds like you guys are having plenty of fun up there too,” I said, smiling. “And a pretty perfect Christmas.”

“We’re lucky.” Adam brought Rob’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’m lucky to have married into this family.”

“Who’re the lovebirds now?” Brian cut in, his expression returning to his signature smirk.

Rob rolled his eyes. “Alright, we’ll let you go. And we’ll see you in a few days.”

We said our goodbyes and ended the call, and Brian and I settled back into our comfortable positions on the sofa, our empty plates still sitting on the coffee table.

“I’m glad they called,” I said, interlacing my fingers through Brian’s as I snuggled up to his side, resting my head on his shoulder.

“Me too. Sounds like they’re having a great time together.”

“So am I… with you.” I turned and pressed my lips against Brian’s for a soft kiss. “The love of my life and the man of my dreams.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you want right now?” Brian’s eyebrow quirked upward just slightly as he looked into my eyes, his own the color of melted chocolate in the dim light of the living room as they sparkled with mischief.

I hummed and pressed another kiss to Brian’s lips, this time pushing my tongue into his mouth, relishing the feeling as he did the same. When I pulled away, I lingered for a second with my lips just touching his, before I fluttered my eyes open and blue met hazel once again.

“I could go for another night in that hot tub,” I purred, my voice bearing a sultry tone. “Might as well take advantage, you know… while we’re here.”

Brian leaned in and kissed me again, sucking at my bottom lip as we separated. “Might as well.”

Not long after, we were sitting in the hot tub on the deck, looking out at the moon reflecting on the water as it lapped at the sand a few hundred yards out, a bottle of wine and two full glasses sitting beside us. Brian leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting out a contented sigh.

“This feels so good,” he breathed.

“We should get one.”

“And put it where? We live in Manhattan, remember?”

“On the deck of that beach house you said you’d buy me.” I grinned and waited for Brian to lift his head and open his eyes, meeting my gaze with the same amusement glimmering in his.

“Maybe.” He pulled his lips into his mouth and looked out toward the beach, a wistful expression on his face that bore just a touch of longing, again making me wonder what he was thinking about, but at the same time not wanting to intrude if he wasn’t ready to share.

I picked up our wine glasses and pressed Brian’s into his hand, which had been resting idly on the side of the tub. “To many more nights just like this one,” I said softly. “No matter where we are.”

Brian smiled and clinked his glass against mine, then took a sip of his wine. He nodded slowly and turned his gaze out toward the ocean, as a comfortable silence settled between us.

We finished the bottle of wine without saying much of anything, just enjoying the quiet, punctuated by the sound of the ocean waves rolling against the shore. When I could tell Brian was just on the edge of falling asleep, I reached over and gently touched a hand to his shoulder, whispering, “Let’s go upstairs.”

Once we were out of the hot tub and upstairs in the master suite, I brushed my teeth and changed into a pair of sleep shorts while Brian worked on his own bedtime preparations. He was moving slowly, and I could tell he was thinking about something, though I could only imagine what it was -- perhaps our conversation about retirement or delegating more tasks at Kinnetik, or the prospect of having a house on the beach, or something entirely different. Regardless of what he was thinking about, I knew I wanted to make our next-to-last night on the island a great one for Brian, so I brought his fancy body lotion out into the bedroom with me, intending to give him a massage to help him relax even more than he already was, because he deserved it. He deserved so much more than that, actually -- more than I felt I could ever give him -- but it would be a start. A small token of gratitude for his efforts in planning the most perfect vacation I’d ever been on in my life.

“What’s that?” Brian asked, eyeing the bottle of lotion in my hand as he arranged his pillows.

“Just a little something for you.” My lips turned up into a smile as I climbed up on the bed, situating myself next to Brian’s lower body before I spread some of the lotion over my palms and started massaging Brian’s feet and lower legs.

It was something I’d done for him before, on many different occasions, because I knew it was helpful to him -- therapy, in a manner of speaking -- and it was also just a way to connect in an intimate way with my husband. But on this particular night, with Brian already so relaxed from our time in the hot tub, it seemed to have an even more calming effect, even when I was massaging areas he couldn’t feel.

I worked my fingers over the muscles of his legs, occasionally feeling them twitch beneath my touch, then had him roll onto his stomach so I could massage his back and shoulders. I heard him let out a soft moan when I got to the part of his back where he had full sensation, so I concentrated on that area for a while longer, enjoying the little sounds of pleasure I was drawing from him with every stroke.

His shoulders were tight, as always -- anyone’s would be, if they essentially used their arms as legs -- so I gave them extra attention, using my thumbs to work out the knots, until Brian’s breathing was so deep, even, and slow that I knew he was asleep. I pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder and turned off the light, settling in beside him for yet another night of peaceful slumber in paradise alongside the man who truly was the love of my life.

***

When I woke up in the morning, the room was still dim, and the first glimmers of sunlight were just starting to emerge from the horizon over the water outside our balcony. A mix of emotions were flitting through my mind -- excitement about spending another day with Brian in paradise, looking forward to getting home and seeing our family, and at the same time, a little bit of sadness that we were only about 24 hours away from leaving. I hoped that we might be able to come back someday, or that if we got a beach house of our own, it would be somewhere just as beautiful.

I rolled over to face Brian, taking in the sight of my sleeping partner alongside me, his expression peaceful and his breath smooth and deep. We’d been up late the night before, between the cookies and the phone call and our time spent in the hot tub, so I wasn’t surprised that Brian was still asleep. And honestly, I was thankful for the opportunity to spend one more morning in the cove I’d found on our first day there, just drawing and thinking, without missing out on any time with Brian.

One last time, I gingerly climbed out of bed and got ready, grabbing a couple of the cookies we’d made the night before on my way out the door, my messenger bag slung over my shoulder. I focused on the feeling of the sand beneath my feet as I made my way to my own personal slice of paradise. The sunrise had painted the sky with pinks and purples, dotted by wispy clouds, and I found myself once again wishing I had some of my art supplies, because a plein air painting of this scene would be amazing. I took a few photos with my phone, so I could give it a try when I got back to my studio -- a place I was really looking forward to getting back to when we got home. What a difference a few months -- and some time to gain perspective -- had made.

As I sat there on the rock, taking in the pure beauty of the scene before me -- from the cool, blue water to the pastel-painted sky and the privacy afforded by the stand of trees that surrounded my little sketching spot -- I wished I had a way to bring Brian out there too, so I could share it with him. But the sand on the way there was soft and not at all wheelchair-friendly -- and even if it was harder and flatter, I was sure that Brian, ever the diva, would spend the next few months complaining about finding sand in every crevice on his chair if we tried it. The only way I could see it happening would be if I carried him somehow, which I knew would be a very, very tough sell.

Still, I spent the next hour or so letting my mind wander as I sketched, thinking about what it would be like to share a sunset picnic with Brian on our final night there, just us and the wonder that was this beautiful place. As my pencil moved over the paper, my mind kept plotting ways that I might be able to convince Brian to let me bring him here, even if I had to carry him on my back. And by the time the sun had fully risen in the sky, I’d made up my mind to take the chance and plan something special for Brian, in exactly the way he’d planned something special for me.

When I returned to the house, my mind was occupied with thoughts of recipes and wine, thinking of what I could make that wouldn’t be too hard to transport over to the cove, and ways I could keep Brian busy -- and from asking too many questions -- while I did it. I found Brian in the kitchen yet again, enjoying his coffee while scrolling through something on his laptop.

“It’s Christmas morning,” I said, as I let my messenger bag slide from my shoulder and into a chair. “No one should be working on Christmas. Not even the boss.”

“I’m not working.” Brian paused and took a sip of his coffee. “I was just finishing up a video call with Gus.”

“At this hour? I’m surprised he’s awake yet.”

“He’s in Toronto with his moms and Jenny Rebecca, who is Michael Novotny’s daughter through and through, and it’s Christmas morning, and you’re still surprised? I’m sure the entire household was up and all the gifts were opened before 7 a.m.”

“You’re probably right.” I laughed and poured my own cup of coffee, then joined Brian at the table. “So how are they all doing? Are you wishing you were there yet?”

“They’re good. And no, I’m not.” Brian turned to me and smiled -- a relaxed, contented smile -- and closed his laptop. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here, with you.”

“It doesn’t feel like Christmas day… It’s so weird. Like the last few months have flown by.”

“There was a lot going on.” Brian gazed into his coffee cup for a moment before he took another drink.

“That’s an understatement.”

Brian huffed out a laugh. “Maybe. But we made it. We’re here, and it’s almost a new year.”

“You know, I’ve never been much of one for resolutions, but this year really does feel like a new beginning for me. Like I’m getting to leave all the ugly stuff behind and start fresh.”

Brian nodded and idly ran a hand over his closed laptop. “I’ve been doing some thinking this morning too,” he said. “About what I could do to make more time, so we can do more things like this. I think I’m gonna hire a few new people, promote a couple of the execs from Pittsburgh and move them to Manhattan, if they’re willing. Take a few things off my plate. And Cynthia’s, and Ted’s. It’s time for some new blood. Not that I’m admitting to being old, but…”

“I know.” I smiled and laid my hand over Brian’s. “You’ll always be young, and you’ll always be beautiful. You’re Brian Kinney, for fuck’s sake. But I’m glad you’re going to cut back. And I certainly wouldn’t turn down more trips like this. Or that new kitchen you promised me last night.”

“For someone whose short-term memory is shit, you sure do remember all of the things that cost money,” Brian laughed.

“Priorities.” I grinned and poked Brian’s shoulder playfully. “I got that one from you.”

I was getting ready to ask Brian what he wanted for breakfast when my phone started ringing in my pocket with a call from my mom -- the first of what seemed like an endless string of phone calls for both Brian and myself that day. We spent most of the time when we weren’t on the phone relaxing on the deck or sitting in the hot tub, or swimming in the in-ground, heated pool, and otherwise having a quiet Christmas that still didn’t quite feel like Christmas, but somehow felt perfect all the same. My mind kept wandering back to the plans I’d made earlier that morning for the picnic dinner I hoped to share with Brian, and trying to come up with a way to keep him busy while I made food. When Michael called late in the afternoon, I got my chance.

He and Brian hadn’t talked at length in a while, that I knew of, so I figured it would be a long phone call, but just in case, I sent Michael a quick text to ask him to keep Brian on the phone for at least 30 minutes if at all possible, so I could put together a surprise for him. A few seconds later, he replied with a thumbs-up emoji and and a winking smiley face, and my plan was set in motion.

I heard bits and pieces of their conversation as I prepared the chicken salad and cut up vegetables, and a lot of it seemed to be centered around the fact that Michael and Ben were now only a couple of months away from becoming grandparents, given that Brian was repeatedly referring to Michael as “gramps” and otherwise teasing him about his age. Michael was only about six months older than Brian, but Brian never let him forget it.

I was packaging up the last of our Christmas cookies when I heard Brian’s voice suddenly go soft as he said, “Yeah. I miss her too. It’s like last year, we were all sort of in shock, and this is the year when it’s really sunk in.”

Brian was quiet for several seconds, and I tried to carry on with what I was doing, but it was hard not to eavesdrop when he spoke again. It made me smile, though, to hear Brian tell Michael that we’d made lasagna and danced the hustle in her honor, and to hear him laugh and say, “I know. I never thought I’d miss the feeling of her smacking me upside the head, but, I think maybe I do.”

I did too.

But I knew she’d be so proud of all of us, and I was sure she was looking down on us and smiling too, from wherever she was.

When I had everything we needed for our picnic -- the food and a bottle of wine, plus blankets and a cushion for Brian to sit on -- packed up into a bag, I went into the living room and leaned over the back of the sofa to kiss Brian on the cheek, whispering in his ear that I was going out for a walk and I’d be back in a bit.

He nodded and reached up to squeeze my hand, still talking to Michael about something related to the comic book store, apparently, and the second location Michael had opened in the suburbs.

I spent the entire walk to the cove and back -- and all of the time it took to set everything up -- running scenarios in my head, rehearsing exactly what I was going to say to Brian in order to convince him to let me carry him piggyback to our picnic spot. What had started as naive confidence earlier that morning had since dwindled into a paralyzing amount of self-doubt, as everything I knew about my husband and how important maintaining his independence was to him ran through my head on repeat, throwing up roadblocks for every possibility I could come up with.

By the time I made it back to the house, I was really just trying to keep my anxiety at bay and not get too drawn down into my own negative thoughts before I even knew what Brian would say. I took a few deep breaths as I stood on the deck outside the kitchen door, attempting to gather my thoughts and my courage -- drawing power from the 17-year-old version of myself who had so fearlessly stated “I’m going with him” all those years ago. But when I went into the house, Brian’s ability to read me and my emotions like a book superceded all of my attempts at acting calm, cool, and collected.

When he first looked up at me, he was smiling, but that smile quickly morphed into concern once he’d looked into my eyes.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen on your walk? Are you okay?”

He got closer to me and looked me up and down, while I tried to find at least some of the words I’d rehearsed over and over again in my head, ultimately settling on, “I’ve got something I want to show you,” accompanied by a smile that I hoped was confident, but that I knew was probably more nervous and unsure than anything.

Brian still looked confused as he cocked his head to the side and said, “What? Sunshine, what happened?”

I shook my head, somehow managing to shake off some of my self-doubt along with it and feeling my confidence start to return before I responded. “Nothing happened, I promise. I just have someplace I want you to see, and I’m hoping you’ll let me take you there.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

I took in a deep breath and said a silent prayer to whomever might have been listening, while Brian gazed up at me, brow furrowed and his eyes still full of concern.

“Because I’ll have to carry you on my back,” I said, sounding much more confident than I felt inside at that moment. “It’s down the beach, so there’s no other way to get there except on foot, but it’s so beautiful… I’ve been going out there and sketching, and I really don’t want to leave this island without sharing it with you.”

I felt like I could see the wheels turning in Brian’s head as he processed what I’d just said. My anxious brain pushed me to fill the silence with some sort of reassurance for Brian, but I managed to stay quiet until he opened his mouth and drew in a breath to speak. I fully expected him to say no, and I was already trying to formulate a compelling counterargument in my mind when he surprised the ever-loving hell out of me with a simple, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

I tried to mask my surprise, but I must have failed, because the next thing I knew, Brian was smirking at me, with that single eyebrow raised as he chuckled under his breath.

“What was I supposed to say?” he asked, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes.

“Well, I figured you’d say no, and I’d have to convince you.”

“Weren’t you the one just telling me how sometimes you have to take a chance, even if something is uncomfortable?”

A sheepish smile spread across my face as I shook my head, marveling at Brian’s ability to somehow turn my own words of advice back on me, almost always.

“Okay then,” he said, not even waiting for a response from me. “Let’s jump.”

It took us about fifteen minutes and a lot of trial and error to find just the right setup for me to be able to carry Brian on my back without either of us feeling like we were unstable, but eventually we got it, and we were on our way. Brian’s arms were wrapped around my shoulders, his fingers digging just a little deeper into my skin anytime we hit a patch of uneven ground, or if I needed to adjust my grip on his legs. The farther we got, the more nervous I could tell he was getting, no matter how many times I reassured him that I was fine, and that we were almost there.

When we finally rounded the edge of the trees that surrounded the cove, I heard Brian inhale sharply, followed by a barely audible, “Jesus Christ.”

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he was okay, only to see him looking around, taking it all in. The sun had bathed everything around us in gold -- the perfect accent to the calm, teal-blue water and a sky that was just beginning to darken into the colors of sunset. I walked us both over to the rock where I’d sat and sketched for so many hours on this trip, carefully lowering Brian down onto the cushion I had positioned on one side of the blanket. He pulled his legs up into a cross-legged position, and I let him get himself settled while I opened the bag I’d already brought over and started unloading our picnic dinner.

“Wow, this place is… It’s beautiful. How did you find it?” Brian’s gaze swept over the horizon, where the sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, painting it with shades of gold, orange, and a reddish-purple just visible at the edge of the trees.

“I found it on my walk, the first morning we were here.”

Brian continued looking out toward the ocean without saying anything, while I busied myself with getting out the food I’d prepared for us, letting Brian have all the time he wanted to take in the scene. I hadn’t been out there at sunset myself, but so far it was shaping up to be just as beautiful as sunrise had been.

I’d just finished unpacking all of the food and was laying out utensils and napkins when Brian’s hand came over mine, stopping my motion. I looked up, only to see him gazing into my eyes, with what I was fairly sure were unshed tears glistening in his own.

“C’mere,” he said softly, his voice rough as he held out his arm, beckoning me to sit beside him.

I moved around the edge of our picnic blanket, feeling Brian’s arm come around me and pull me into his side once I got closer. He tilted my chin upward with his other hand and kissed me -- long, slow, and passionate, yet still bearing all of the gentle care Brian always took with me, and had from our first night together.

When he pulled away, he paused and stared into my eyes, his lips upturned into the tiniest smile as some of the dampness in his own eyes gathered at the corners, threatening to fall.

“Thank you,” he whispered, tightening his arm around my shoulders as he turned his attention back to the sunset, his fingers brushing lightly over my arm.

“It felt like the least I could do,” I said. “You put together this trip, and you’ve done so much for me over the last several months. I wanted to do something for you.”

Brian’s fingertips continued tracing a lazy pattern over my arm as we sat there together in silence, gazing out at the ocean and the seemingly endless expanse of teal-blue water, basking in the warm glow of the sunset. When Brian spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion.

“Sometimes my world feels small, even though I know it’s not. Because there are places I can’t go… things I can’t access. Things I feel like I can’t do anymore. But then you’re always right there to challenge that -- to push me to make it happen.” He paused and cleared his throat, then let out a breathy chuckle. “You’ve been doing that from the beginning. When I met you, I thought I didn’t want love, or a relationship, or a partner. That I didn’t need it. I didn’t think I could ever trust anyone like that. But you showed me that I could… that I needed to. That I deserved to have it. You pushed me, and you never gave up on me, even when I pushed you away. You made it happen. So thank you. Thanks for bringing me here… for making this happen. For making sure I never miss out on anything. Not just this, but… everything.”

“ _We_ made it happen,” I said softly, reaching up to link my fingers with Brian’s. “Together. I couldn’t have done any of it without you. And I wouldn’t want to.”

Brian was quiet for several seconds, his breath moving in and out in a steady rhythm, before he responded, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to hear what he was about to say.

“Sometimes I wonder, if you met me now… would you still want to be with me?”

I tightened my fingers around Brian’s, turning my head so I could see his face as he gazed out at the horizon, lost somewhere inside his thoughts. “I could ask you the same question,” I said, my own voice equally soft.

When Brian turned to face me, I saw him quickly blink back a tear or two before his lips curled up into a smile -- one that was genuine, sincere, and confident… everything I knew my husband to be. “Absolutely,” he said. “Without question.”

“Same here.” I returned Brian’s smile before letting my head come to rest on his shoulder and silence reign between us as the sun began to sink lower on the horizon, painting the sky a deep purple with streaks of red, orange, and gold. It was quite possibly the most beautiful sunset I’d ever seen, and I realized in that moment just how lucky I was to be sharing it with someone who loved me unconditionally. Without question. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health.

Nothing could break our bond, though a lot of things had tried over the years. But somehow, we always found our way back to each other.

The way we were meant to be.

“I’d spend a thousand lifetimes with you,” I said softly, still holding Brian’s hand as we sat there together, lost in the moment, safe in each other’s arms. Exactly the way I hoped we would be for many more years to come.

“No regrets?”

“Not one.”


End file.
